xSecond Chancex
by xichxliebexdichx
Summary: Craig tormented Tweek for years. But junior year, something is different: He isn't nearly as content in torturing the Spazmoid as he used to be. He starts feeling things other than annoyance in his presence... Will he get, or even deserve a second chance?
1. Something New

Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own South Park, etc. It belongs to Matt n Trey. They probably never intended any of the yaoi-ness I see, so if you don't like it, A) don't bother THEM about it, and B) don't read. Oh, and speaking of – this is BL, ladies and gentlemen. Suck it up. =]

**A/N**: This chapter is told in third person. The next will be in first, probably from Craig's POV.

* * *

**Chapter One**

Something New

People weren't entirely sure why, but Craig Tucker never talked much. Maybe he just didn't have much to say, or what he had to say wasn't relevant enough even to the boy himself. Outside of replying shortly when he was spoken to, the teenager almost never spoke voluntarily, even with his closest friends – a difference from when he was slightly younger. Even then, often his response was a middle finger in the talker's general direction; at least some things never changed. Yet for some reason, even with his stoic attitude, he was still a prime target for hitting on. His friends blamed his unnaturally good looks for the frequent attention he truly didn't want, commonly of the female persuasion. Occasionally, a brave guy would go for him, but get equal treatment as the girls pining for his affection – a long, seemingly cold stare, a quick shake of his exquisite raven head, and a numb gesture of "fuck you."

Clyde and Token sometimes remarked that he'd flipped the bird so many times, he'd flipped over his hormones and turned them off.

"Dude," Clyde moaned once, "I'd _kill_ for that many lays!"

Craig only shrugged. "They're all yours," he'd said back, flipping off his close friend out of habit.

Only so many people saw his warmer side, but that was a limited-space circle. While he usually came off aloof, behind closed doors and with good friends, he actually had a charming smile. And he was _painfully_ clever.

Students and classmates of South Park High regarded him with quiet wonder, and more audible giggles – with the exception of one person. While it was true Craig Tucker acted icy and indifferent for 99.99% of the student body and staff, there was someone who he reserved heat and annoyance for.

Tweek Tweak.

For eight years, the twitchy, caffeinated blonde had been one of the only things to get on his nerves. He was second only to moths on Craig's list of constant irritations. The only time anyone saw an expression other than blank apathy on Craig's face was around Tweek Tweak; the dark-haired teen would glare, frown a little, maybe even scowl, and occasionally smirk.

Craig was a bit of a bully for Tweek, especially when you look back. Countless times, especially in middle school and the first two years of high school, Craig Tucker verbally and physically abused the neurotic boy; he tripped him, insulted him at every chance, whacked him over the head, shoved him out of his way, and flipped him off more than he did anyone else. The stammering blonde even took it lying down, freaking out about it only as much as he freaked out about everything else. For Craig, it had been almost _too easy_ to even make him feel like it was his own fault every time.

Which made him even more grating.

It was a particularly cold, dreary morning in South Park, and Craig's walk to his bus stop that Monday morning was dull and fast. When he arrived at the appropriate street corner, he leaned against the street names' pole and shoved his gloved hands in his down coat's pockets; Tweek Tweak (a.k.a., the Spazmoid) stood trembling on the opposite side of the pole, eyelid twitching as he stared at the enormous thermos in his bare hands, no doubt filled with at least his third round of coffee. For the smaller boy's part, he remained fairly quiet – an odd thing for him. Craig's eyes fell shut, and he took a deep, calming breath, keeping himself from snapping at the blonde for sipping his drink so noisily.

"Morning, C-Craig," the paranoid kid stuttered politely, avoiding any unlikely eye contact. "How – GAH – was your morning?" He shivered violently, the beverage in its insulated canister sloshing loudly.

Grinding his teeth together, Craig flipped the boy off. "Fine," he grumbled tightly. Why did Spazmoid always ask him that? Even though Craig made his dislike for the twitchy freak more than evident, the guy absolutely _insisted_ on greeting him in a civil manner every morning. Even though Craig still abused him occasionally, Tweek Tweak always, without fail, said good morning and asked how he was.

It drove Craig up the wall.

"What about _you_, Spazmoid?" the taller of the two threw out after a moment of thoughtful silence; Tweek shrieked in surprise. Craig rarely continued the conversation.

"I'm just – _ngh_ – I'm… GAH! Too much _pressure_!" he yelped in a shrill voice, hands flying up to grip desperately at his unruly hair; his lime green thermos fell to the frozen sidewalk, lid popping easily off. For a single second, the world seemed to pause as the echo of the metal clattering to a stop rung in both teens' ears, Tweek's dark brew spilling onto the icy concrete. Craig raised an eyebrow.

"My… my COFFEE!" Tweek screeched, emerald eyes bulging. He fell to his knees, sliding slightly on the iced pavement, scrambling to reassemble his thermos and save whatever was left in it. "JESUS CHRIST! What'm I gonna _do_?!" He was having trouble keeping hold of his thermos every time he managed to pick it up. "I don't h-have any _ngh_ c-coffee!" he babbled desperately, unaware of Craig's hot glare. The nervous boy was shaking uncontrollably, fingers stiff with cold, his grip slack. "Craaap!" he whined, sniffling. "Don't – won't – need – GAH!"

"Oh, for the _love_ of…" the taller boy muttered, irate. Bending down, he scooped up the thermos and lid in one motion, knocking the blonde over the head with the base of his canister. "You're fucking _hopeless,_ Spazmoid," he growled, stuffing the bright green thermos in the twitchy teen's side pocket of his backpack. "Shut _up_, already."

Whimpering at the bump on his head, Tweek fidgeted anxiously, biting his lower lip, clenching his numb hands into fists and holding them up to his collarbone for no apparent reason. "Sorry _ngh_ C-Craig," he mumbled quietly. Craig flipped him off.

_God, where's Clyde?_ the raven boy wondered impatiently. _He'd better not leave me alone with Spazmoid all morning._ Clyde came to the same bus stop, so Craig could feel less tense around Tweek each day before school. _Oh, shit. I bet that bastard got a ride!_ he realized, narrowing his gaze at nothing.

When the bus pulled up, Craig accepted Clyde's absence, heaved a sigh, and pushed Tweek forward first. He stumbled, but got up the steps well enough, gaze downcast as someone got out of a seat in the center; he took it, sitting right up against the window. As Craig migrated to the back, ignorant of the longing looks and a wary gaze that followed him, he eyed Tweek almost angrily. The Spazmoid always sat alone. Always. Nobody wanted to sit next to him – not now, not in middle school, or even in elementary school. An odd epiphany struck Craig suddenly: Spazmoid had no friends. Not _really_.

An unfamiliar stab of a gut wrenching, heartbreaking sort of emotion penetrated the raven's chest… Pity. Thrown, Craig landed on the way-back seat of the bus haphazardly, messenger bag slipping to the dirty floor and taking his balance with it. If he had been anyone else, people would've laughed – he knew they'd have _died_ laughing if it had been the Spazmoid – but his infamous aura of "don't fuck with me" made sure they thought twice first. It _was_ fairly comical, truthfully, and uncharacteristically clumsy of him, but he rearranged himself swiftly and set himself down less ridiculously. Glancing forward, he briefly locked gazes with Spazmoid; the neurotic blonde ducked quickly, looking panicked as he cried out, "GAH!" But before he had opened his mouth, Craig had caught a strange, almost… _cute_ look of concern.

Had Tweek worried about Craig's moment of klutziness?

"Fuck no," Craig dismissed for his own benefit, scratching under his trademark blue fleece hat. He flipped off the back of the boy's seat.

A few seats ahead on the left side of the bus, a certain orange-clad mischief-magnet smirked and rolled his eyes before turning back to his naïve blonde friend.

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The bus arrived ten minutes earlier than it usually did, and Craig watched with mild amusement as the Spazmoid shot off towards the nearest café for another coffee refill. Heading inside, he wondered vaguely how the kid could afford so much coffee every day. He didn't come off as terribly wealthy…

"Yo, Craig," came Token's bored voice, and they automatically tapped knuckles. Falling in stride with him, the more mature boy looked to the sky. "Bet it'll snow again."

Grunting in agreement, the taller boy flipped off the clouds. Once inside, Clyde decided to show his handsome face.

"Hey, Craig – sorry 'bout the bus," he apologized beseechingly, "My mom had work late today, so she offered a ride. I couldn't say _no_…"

Giving him the finger, the raven shrugged. "Whatever."

"Hope Spazmoid didn't get to you," Clyde went on, on the brink of teasing him. "You didn't _kill_ him or anything?"

"He dropped his coffee and freaked. Couldn't even pick up the stupid thermos." Shooting a glare down the hall at an unfortunately familiar figure, he added, "Speak of the devil…"

Token and Clyde turned slightly to follow his narrowed gaze.

The aforementioned "freak" edged in slight jerks toward the locker directly across from Craig's; newly filled thermos glued to his terminally chapped lips, he stopped at his locker. In a unique moment, one of rarity, he became perfectly still, eyes closed in elated, caffeinated bliss. Craig's pulse raced, muscles tensing at the bizarrely serene expression the typically trembling blonde wore. He only stopped twitching once in a blue moon, and for a nameless reason, Craig found himself staring. But of course, the moment vanished as hastily as it had arrived, and Tweek twitched, crying out shortly, involuntarily.

"Freak," Clyde and Token concluded in unison, facing away in the appropriate snobbish fashion. Craig flipped off no one in particular, slamming his locker door shut and earning another "GAH!" from behind him.

Unknowing of what compelled him, Craig somehow felt the need to turn, stand right behind the Spazmoid, and scare the ever-loving hell out of him.

"_Stop that._"

"JESUS CHRIST!"

Leaping forward, Tweek crashed into his locker, smacking his forehead on one of the shelves and dropping his coffee for the second time. Groaning, he rubbed at his latest head injury with cold hands, not yet noticing his lack of brew. Briefly mimicking the noises of a newborn puppy, he started to turn around, spotting Craig's proximity. "GAH!" he shrieked, jumping backward this time, knocking the other side of his messy, blonde head. His hands flew to the pain again, and he groaned once more. "My coffee!" he gasped, not for the first time, seeing his insulated canister lying on its side on the floor. Diving for it, he slipped on the damp floor, slick with melted ice, and landed on his own side.

Laughter erupted throughout the hall, coming from nearly everyone but an exasperated blonde, Tweek (who was attempting to get up without looking at anyone), and… Craig.

He surprised himself, really. Usually he would've at least _chuckled_ at the boy's expense, but somehow Spazmoid injuring himself wasn't as funny as it used to be. Another strange sensation took hold of his chest, and he did something he never thought he'd do.

"You okay, Spazmoid?" Even as the words left his mouth, he realized it was weird of him to ask.

Tweek didn't answer, but finally got to his feet, shaking violently, face bright red and gaze downcast. He clutched at his thermos, shutting his locker and ducking away, forcing himself to ignore people's jabs and comments. Nobody had heard Craig express concern for the one kid he openly disliked, so neither would undergo any interrogation from anybody on the matter – no one Craig was aware of, anyway.

Looking at the small splash of coffee at his feet, Craig realized the bizarre emotion he'd felt had been guilt.

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Second period rolled around fast, and Craig found himself searching for Tweek's face in the few already sitting in study hall; he wasn't hard to find, with his golden hair and endless vibrating. Held in the cafeteria, study hall sat thirty-two kids in a large space, but as per usual, Tweek Tweak sat alone in the east corner, history textbook on top of his knees and various papers strewn around him. Craig usually sat on the opposite end of the room at a round table, and Clyde joined him when he arrived (late). But he was early again, so he acted on some whim and sat a table closer toward the middle of the room.

Being the first person in most of his classes (since he was constantly worried he'd be late, the teacher would yell and flunk him, and he'd drop out of high school to become a bum only to die on the streets), Tweek would find somewhere to sit as far away from others as he could, for fear of harassment and embarrassment. Craig could understand, as he was still occasionally a source for such things.

Dumping his books carelessly onto the table and ignoring a small cry of "Jesus!" Craig fell heavily into his pathetic plastic chair. Glancing sideways as he did so, he could see the Spazmoid flinch as he looked at him; he just as quickly looked away.

Craig smirked. He really had the kid pinned. Of course, the Spazmoid was scared of everyone and everything, but the dark-haired teen was fairly certain he was still the boy's biggest fear. He definitely got the best reactions. It used to be his favorite thing to trip him as he walked by, shove him out of the way, smack him upside the head – but over the summer, something had switched in his brain, and he began getting less and less enjoyment out of the mild torture he subjected the twitchy blonde to. He insulted him less over the last six weeks, barely touched him, and would often remain civil in his presence. Of course, the coffee-addict still pissed him off to no end – _that_ hadn't changed – but he just didn't feel as inclined to make the poor bastard's life any more miserable than it already was. It's not like the kid was the _bane of his existence_ or anything.

"…aig… Craig!" someone shouted in his face.

Snapping out of his reverie, Craig blinked after flinching with surprise. "What?" he muttered irately.

"Quit daydreaming' an' help me with this stupid algebra," Clyde whined, punching his shoulder and slamming his notebook in front of his more competent friend. "What the fuck is a 'domain' supposed to be??"

Rolling is azure eyes, Craig flipped off his slightly dense bestie, demanding his textbook. As he started explaining why _x_ was greater than or equal to four on the graph, he felt an odd, tingling sensation on his back; he'd felt it a few times before, read about it, too, and knew what it was. Pausing Clyde's mini tutoring session, he turned a little in his seat, glaring hotly at the green-eyed boy that had been watching him. The blonde flushed vibrantly, eyes widening in terror. His eyelid twitched, and he let out a small, "_Ngh_…!" as he bent his head back to his book.

"Dude. Craig." Clyde waited for him to turn around. "What's up with you?" he accused, "You're ignoring me!"

Craig flipped off both his friend and his victim, who may or may not have even been looking.

Just before the bell rang, while Clyde grinned triumphantly at his finished math homework, Craig mindlessly stared at a wall, tapping his fingers rhythmically. Eventually, his gaze drifted down, and he caught himself staring at a fidgeting Tweek Tweak. The smaller boy's brow was furrowed in deep concentration, and he was chewing his lip in frustration; he looked at his wits' end, clearly unable to fully comprehend whatever it was he was reading. He glanced frantically between his book and some papers, and soon began shaking.

"Too… much… PRESSURE," he squealed, probably as quietly as he could. "Stupid _history_!" he whimpered.

Craig caught himself preparing to stand, and then the bell for third period sounded.

Tweek shrieked, jumping in his seat and falling backward. Luckily for him, no one saw this, so he didn't undergo any harassment for it, but he still blushed. Blinking slowly, the raven-haired observer allowed himself to frown as he started out the doors.

_Fuck. Spazmoid is pissing me off again… oh, well. Isn't that a_ good _thing?_ he thought irately. Turning swiftly, Craig exited the cafeteria. _I bet he didn't get the dates on the Korean War… Ms. Choksondik is kind-of a fucktard, getting the wrong dates on the handout._ He sighed. _Maybe I should tell him about it._

Freezing mid-step in the center of the hallway, Craig mentally slapped himself. Why was he even _considering_ helping the Spazmoid? If he did, it would mean spending more time around the restless nut! Not even right now could he take that. Four periods were enough. He shook his head vigorously, and pressed onward; due to some odd twist of fate, he didn't notice right away when his ear-flapped, signature hat fell off his distracted head. And who should pick it up moments later but an unpopular, coffee-crazed kid known as Tweek Tweak?

The trembling, caffeinated kid could only stare down at it in shock at first. Craig's hat was his _defining point_, and he didn't notice it had fallen off? He must've hat a shitload of other things on his mind, then. Bending down, Tweek's unsteady hand held the blue accessory loosely. It was soft – so soft – probably from years of wear. The fleece had a dirty look to it, though it was most likely clean; it _smelled_ clean enough, anyway. Twitching, Tweek quickly clutched the hat to his chest and away from his face, as his avid curiosity indubitably made him seem like a creeper. He stared after the taller teen's figure, quivering non-stop with new nerves.

He'd _have_ to return it…

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When absolutely everyone in third period stared as he stood in the doorway, Craig Tucker finally realized something was off. Something vitally important to his image, to how he became recognizable was… _missing_. His free hand flew to his head; his blue eyes widened dramatically, and he gripped at his exposed hair, fingers icy, as he pulled the most mortified expression anyone had ever seen him wear.

"FUCK!" he announced in terribly uncharacteristic panic. Out the door in flash, Craig dropped his stuff and shot back down the hallway toward the cafeteria.

Back in the classroom, students and teacher alike began murmuring scandalously. One person in particular voiced his ever-present opinion.

"He's even hotter _without_ his hat on!" Kenny exclaimed delightedly.

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Panting in an unflattering way, Craig careened around a corner and immediately crashed into someone considerably smaller than him; surprising reflexes allowed him to catch both himself and his unsuspecting victim before either fell.

"Sorry," Craig apologized hastily, squeezing for emphasis the elbow of the increasingly familiar kid he'd literally run into.

"AUGH! C-Craig!"

Entirely thrown, the darker boy did a double take before releasing the blonde and stepping back in an almost embarrassed way. "Oh. Spazmoid."

Tweek couldn't look any higher than Craig's knees as he trembled awkwardly, grass green thermos in one hand, Craig's forgotten hat in the other. "You… ngh. You dropped your hat," he mumbled, thrusting his arm out and offering it back. "I was gonna – GAH! – give it back to you in _ngh_ class," he went on, speaking very quickly and vibrating where he stood.

The halls were nearly empty, and classroom doors began to shut, leaving the two virtually alone. As Spazmoid simply waited, Craig watched the messy blonde shake from a combination of anxiety and caffeine intake. _He's just so… _pathetic_, so __harmless_, the taller boy thought plainly, _how could anybody hurt this poor kid?_ There it was again.

That pity. That guilt.

"Hey," Craig said unconsciously, "Lookit me."

"GAH!" Tremors growing more violent, he obeyed after a hesitant beat. What followed was a moment that was weird for the both of them: Their eyes met.

Tweek's face was frozen in a permanent mask of panic, his brilliant green orbs shimmering with something close to a _magical_ quality, and they were leaping back and forth across Craig's face, undoubtedly taking in Craig's hatless look; his expression smoothed the tiniest bit, and he definitely (Craig couldn't work around it this time) looked _cute_. Craig's dark hair fell into his face as if it were still damp from after a shower (which it was, actually), and his usually indifferent eyes were shadowed in an unfairly sexy manner. His frighteningly handsome features softened when he saw the look on the blonde's face.

"…Thank you," Craig murmured loud enough for only Tweek to hear, though no one else would've overheard anyway in the empty hallway. With a gentleness he wasn't aware he possessed, he took his hat from the smaller boy's abnormally still hand.

Tweek could only whimper as Craig pulled it back over his head gratefully.

"…You're welcome," he twitched nervously, twisting his hand at his side.

Silence. It's true when they say it can be deafening.

Craig opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Mackey stepped out of his classroom and caught sight of the two teenagers.

"Hey! You boys need to get to class, m'kaaay?" he scolded in his annoying, muffled drone.

Pulled out of their bubble, the boys broke eye contact and turned away. Craig headed for Chemistry again, tugging the ends of his hat. The teacher didn't like students to be late, so he prepared himself for a severe talking to in his honor as soon as he walked in. Tweek stayed put for a brief moment, and then squeaked, rushing forward and ahead of the dark-haired boy without looking at him. Confused, Craig watched the caffeine-addict stumble into the classroom before him.

"Tweek Tweak!"

"GAH!"

"This is your first warning, young man," the teacher reprimanded, "Don't be late again!"

"I'm – _urk_ – sorry!" the Spazmoid said with difficulty, voice strained as usual.

"Take your seat, Mister Tweak, and copy down what I'm writing on the boar—"

"SWEET JESUS!" the boy shrieked, and Craig heard a theatrical _crash_ from where he stood outside the doorway, listening with unsure awe. There was an unmistakable sound of students suppressing laughter, and Tweek yelped, becoming visible to Craig as he crab-walked backward across the floor, scooting up into the wall under the blackboard to avoid a terrifying mess he managed to have a hand in. "I'm SORRY! Oh god, I'm so SORRY!" he wailed.

"Oh, _Tweek_!" the irritated teacher groaned, gliding out of sight to begin clean up.

The tall, dark teen standing just outside the room took it as his cue to edge inside unnoticed, scooping up his previously dropped belongings as he did so. Sneaking fairly easily into his first-row seat, he never took his eyes off the panicking blonde up front, who by now had begun hugging his knees and whimpering horrible situations to himself. An idea finally clicked in Craig's brain: _Did he do all that just now so that I wouldn't be scolded for coming in late?_ For some reason, that thought made… him…

Blush.

Oh, god.

Craig Tucker (CRAIG MOTHERFUCKING TUCKER), _blushing_??

Craig silently thanked a god he didn't believe in that no one saw his cheeks burn like they did – _especially_ not the Spazmoid. Of course, he didn't know someone _had_ noticed; Kenny smirked coyly to himself.

As if hearing his name inside the raven's head, the "freak" glanced over at him. To his surprise, the taller boy did _not_ flip him off, or glare, or turn away apathetically… Craig smiled; he didn't smirk, he actually smiled! His typically motionless lips even formed the words, "_Thank you_."

Tweek's heart went into overdrive. _Oh my god, he knows!_ he thought, shocked. _And he_ smiled! _Oh god, the Apocalypse is coming! Jesus Christ, he's going to… to… to kill me or something! Craig doesn't_ smile! _Augh!_

"Oh, GOD!" he screamed in unseen terror, clutching at his chaotic hair, limbs jerking unintentionally. But… he was sure he mouthed "Thank you." So he knew he wanted to distract the teacher… and _didn't_ think he was an idiot?? Through his tremors, he snuck a peek at the dark-haired wonder; Craig had stopped smiling, and was now staring with detached interest, seeming somewhat dazed.

The teacher lectured him, reminding him to be more careful around lab equipment, and the blonde eventually went to his seat, at a lab counter; his tablemates scooted their stools as far as they could get away with. Hanging his head, he futzed with his thermos, bright red.

As class carried on, Craig tuned out and started pondering on whether or not he was starting to reevaluate the way he treated the Spazmoid. One had to decide on preparing to decide before any actual decisions could be made.

Today was shaping up to be something new…

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**A/N**: Yeah. First Creek fic. Not sure if I already said that. XD Hope it was good enough, though. _' I get the feeling Craig's attitude/personality will change a bit as I continue the story… It'll kind-of _have_ to, really. Oh, and wanna know a secret?

(…I don't have any actual plot yet.) X3


	2. Are you okay?

**EDITED**

**A/N: **Son of a fuckcracker, this is an awkward chapter. Craig is difficult to write from, mostly cuz keeping his personality straight is getting harder and harder. O.O' The change starts soon, peeps. Bear with me. ._.'

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**Chapter Two**

Craig's P.O.V.

"Are you okay?"

My head seemed stuck, zooming in on the Spazmoid curled up under the blackboard, fingers laced in his unkempt golden locks, emerald eyes glistening, close to tears in his panic. He knew that he'd scare himself, breaking something, but he still raced ahead of me to get to class first and went and smashed an Erlenmeyer flask as big as his head. While he isn't exactly a genius like Token or Kyle, the kid's still pretty damned smart, especially for a messed-up, neurotic coffee-addict; he would've known that would happen. So why'd he torture himself like that? We weren't exactly _friends_, as you know.

I was so preoccupied, I didn't pay any attention the rest of the period. Someone tried to talk to me, but their words never reached my brain.

Already I was pretty hungry, and my head likes to go into overdrive on an empty stomach. Thoughts and ideas raced pass at a mile a minute, scrolling across my consciousness like a news headline scrolls under an anchorman – too fast to read the first time around, but of course, it doesn't come around again. It's a sad day when you realize you _literally_ don't know what you're thinking. Anyway, my thoughts were jumbled and impatient, jumping to the Spazmoid, then on to History class, back to Spazmoid, then on to my dad leaving for some business trip or whatever tonight, and then to Spazmoid again.

The little twerp wouldn't get out of my head.

When I sat down heavily in my chair fourth period, setting my massive textbook on the desk in front of me, I slouched to get comfortable. From where I sat, I could hear Thomas in the back, trying to talk quietly to Butters and occasionally letting out a loud expletive – as the Spazmoid walked in, he cried out in shock at the Tourette's boy's, "BITCH!"

I shut my eyes to refrain from rolling them.

The blonde freak inspected his seat before allowing himself to sit, most likely to check for tacks, needles, or sticky substances he'd be afraid were where he was meant to put his ass. Once settled in, he immediately pulled out the salmon-colored sheet he'd been agonizing over earlier.

"_Ngh_," he muttered, leg bouncing restlessly. "Nineteen… Nineteen_ what??_ Which _is_ it??" he whimpered. I imagined he thought if he got the date incorrect, he'd fail the test on Friday.

Now, me, I never really had a problem with tests or quizzes – I pretty much aced them and ignored homework. That's where my grades suffer, but that's beside the point. The point _is_, in fact, that I have skills when it comes to getting ready for tests.

I caught myself just as I moved to get up. I was doing it again – getting the weird urge to help him. Something is _wrong_ with me today.

More people filtered in as I fell back into my seat, gaze dull as I watched Kenny and Cartman saunter in. Kenny was one of the only people in school who more than tolerated the fat-ass. No one knows why, and I don't really think (or care) about it. Today my gaze met Kenny's, as he scanned the room and singled me out. Making a beeline for my desk, he smirked knowingly before falling into the desk-chair next to mine.

"Hiya, _Craig_," he said loudly, with incredibly false cheer. Tweek shrieked in the background. "How're _you_ today?" he continued, drawing attention to us and leaning closer.

Narrowing my gaze suspiciously, I murmured, "What're you up to?"

Kenny's cheesy grin dropped in an instant, and he scooted his desk up against mine. "Can't I be friendly with a friend?" he asked lowly, raising an eyebrow.

Thing is, Kenny McCormick and I aren't "friendly" friends – not to mention that his pseudo-cheerfulness meant he had something up his bright-orange sleeve, something along the lines of a mischievous scheme. He was notorious for scheming.

"Not with _me_, no. You never are," I replied skeptically, cocking my own brow.

Nodding agreeably, he sat back in his seat. "True," he admitted. "But seriously, Craig," he went on, tone following his words, "I need to ask you something."

I waited, unwavering.

Rolling his oceanic eyes, Kenny adjusted himself to face me. "Is something wrong?"

I blinked. "Wrong?" I echo.

"Yeah, _wrong_." He didn't even flinch. "Are you okay?"

As I debated with myself on any possibility I could be anything but "okay," I eyed him wearily. Kenny has this weird perception/intuition thing where he magically, _psychically_ picks up on every little thing people are feeling. But I'm fairly certain I hadn't felt anything new or different, so why was he bringing this up? It was, however, extremely unlikely that Kenny had made a mistake, so suddenly I doubted my self-evaluation.

The blonde's eyes flashed as he picked up on my expressionless mood shift, and he gave me a little smirk. "I knew it."

I hated how he only sounded so arrogant. "Knew _what?_" I pressed tightly, becoming irate.

"You don't hate Tweek anymore."

Two years ago, I would've punched him in the shoulder and flipped him off. A year ago I would've flipped him off and proceeded to ignore him. Now? I just stared blankly. "What," I said flatly.

"You haven't for a while now. Am I right?"

Now that he mentioned it (therefore making me think of it), I haven't. I said before that he still drives me up the wall, but… I didn't _hate_ the twitchy kid. Which meant… what?

"What's you point?" I challenged smoothly, never letting my expression falter. He liked explanations; I'd let him give me one.

Waving a hand airily, as if to wave off my words, he shook his head. Crossing my arms, I waited once more. It only took a second before he got excited and impatient with himself. Huge grin plastered in place, he leaned into me again, a lot closer than before – I tried to move back, but I was in the window seat and had nowhere to go; his breath was scalding hot in my ear, and I wondered vaguely if he ran at 101F or something.

"Maybe it's none of my business," he whispered smugly.

"Like you don't go off and _make_ it yours," I hissed disbelievingly, frowning.

Kenny chuckled. "Well, yes. I do. But, Craig, what I'm trying to tell you is…

"Tweek's _never_ hated you."

Slipping away lithely, he left me to ponder on that one as he headed back to sit with Butters instead. I flipped him off for good measure before turning a bit in my seat; the Spazmoid was staring. When he saw me looking, he squealed and ducked back into the textbook he'd been studying earlier; I flipped off the front cover and faced the window. Goddamn that Kenny McCormick, making me think about that blonde nut.

If I were the Spazmoid, I would've hated my tormentor… How could he _not_? As if his life wasn't miserable enough, I came along, and for _years_ made it worse. In fact, I highly doubt I wasn't the _worst_ of it. So why doesn't he hate me? Why hasn't he _ever_ hated me, as seems to be the case? What barriers has he put up? What is he telling himself? What makes him decide he _doesn't hate me_?

"CRAIG!"

Flinching, I turned my head to find Ms. Choksondik standing over me, enraged and embarrassed. "Craig, if you would _please_ answer the question."

I flipped her off without thinking.

"Did you just flip me off, young man?!" she demanded, scowling.

"No," I lie easily, never breaking eye contact, daring her to stay hovering over me.

She turned and hobbled away without responding, her long, saggy breasts swaying loosely; I grimace at the sight. "Tell us, Craig, the number of fatalities the Korean War resulted in."

"Sixty-five thousand." I didn't even hesitate. "Fifty-thousand on our side, sixty-thousand on theirs. Oh, and about a million Chinese casualties as well."

As if they hadn't all been gawking awkwardly before, they certainly were now, making a special effort to _gape_ too. Like, _Wow, he's actually smart!_ 'Cuz the possibility is naught, right? I showed them my favorite finger before returning to the thoughts I'd been called from.

I didn't notice the Spazmoid's gaze until it tingled on my back again; something in the far back of my brain noted that I'd been feeling that a lot – a lot more often than when I first started noticing it, at least. Again I turned, and this time, I locked onto his green eyes, keeping my face blank.

Widened as usual, the spastic blonde's springtime orbs stared, his eyelid quivering once or twice. He bit his bottom lip, like he had in the hall, and if the rest of the room had been quiet, I bet I would've heard him whimper. The neurotic boy was trembling (surprise, surprise), and it grew more intense the longer I looked at him. It didn't require much prior knowledge to figure he was getting more and more embarrassed, and for some reason, this thought made me hungry for his blush.

I wanted to see him beet red.

After about twenty seconds under my merciless gaze, he clutched frantically at his messy hair, shaking violently now. His lips moved and I could just barely make out the words, "Too… much…

"PRESSURE!" he screeched, startling the whole class. Thomas swore loudly.

"Tweek!" Ms. Choksondik said, aghast, "Do you need to –"

"GAH!"

"—see the vice principal, young man?!"

"No, Ms. Choksondik," the Spazmoid stammered nervously, tearing his gaze away from mine to cast it unevenly toward our teacher. I couldn't help but smirk to myself. "I, _ngh_, I'm just fine – GAH!"

As Ms. Choksondik turned back to the chalkboard without further reprimand, he dug his nails into his skull (deeper, I'd think), and I could still hear him suppressing his voice. Eyes shut, he clenched his teeth and wore an expression of pure frustration and anxiety. My breath caught in my throat and my smirk fell as the word "cute" popped into my mind, and I couldn't move.

Suddenly the bell rang, and simultaneous cries of, "SWEET JESUS!" and "MOTHERFUCKER!" woke me. Moving to stand, I saw Kenny smirk at me out of the corner of my eye. I had just enough time to flip him off before he slipped out the door. Fucking A.

"_Ngh_," came a voice behind me, "Excuse me."

Glancing over my shoulder, I caught a snippet of gold hair, and had to lift my arm to see the Spazmoid with his head down, patiently waiting to get by; I was standing in the middle of our aisle, blocking his exit. He was at least six inches shorter than me, but his hair made up for some of the height difference, unless he was ducking as he was now. Wordlessly, I stepped to the side, sitting on a desk, and he almost literally scurried past. I silently watched him go, realizing distantly that his proximity didn't make me cringe anymore. He had been standing only a few inches from my back, and only so long ago would that have pissed me off.

It also dawned on me that I'd gotten my wish – his cheeks were a vibrant crimson.

………………………………………………………

Lunch felt longer than usual. We'd only just sat down, and already the thirty minutes were dragging on. I sat at a round table, Clyde and Token sat on either side of me, and (attached-at-the-hip) Stan and Kyle were across from me while Kenny was in between Kyle and Clyde, Cartman seated at Stan's left. Our spot in the cafeteria was noisy and animated. Kenny left, probably to find Butters and drag him over; Stan and Token were arguing over something philosophical; Cartman and Kyle were butting heads about whatever; Clyde was practically inhaling his greasy pizza. I was slowly devouring a turkey sandwich myself, not really paying attention to anyone in particular but aware of the conversations taking place. I'd just finished my last strategically squared bite of poultry-and-cheddar goodness, and stood to throw my trash away when I bumped into somebody as I turned; he shrieked and tripped as I stumbled backward into my table.

A clatter echoed ominously as the entire cafeteria silenced and turned to observe.

Spazmoid's apple rolled away, and his lunch tray finally settled; the nervous blonde was on all fours, shivering.

"_Urk_."

Everyone burst into uproarious laughter. I could only stare.

"Good one, Craig," Cartman offered in his kiss-ass voice; I flipped him off without turning around.

Tweek Tweak scrambled to pick up his ruined food and tray, messenger bag weighing him down. His thermos fell out, and he dropped his tray in an effort to catch it, missing completely and causing himself to slip onto his ass. I saw his face burning brighter and brighter shades of scarlet, and another pang of pity threatened to make me frown.

"Spazmoid," I said, trying to get his attention. "Hey."

Snapping his head up, the paranoid guy shouted, "SWEET JESUS! C-Craig!" Scrambling to get up, he avoided my eyes. "I'm sorry – _ngh_ – C-Craig! I didn't – GAH! – hurt you, did I??"

I could've lied. I could've faked a mild injury, blamed him for it, and made him panic over something that hadn't even happened. Two years ago, I would have. But I didn't. Something about the way he couldn't look me in the eye, and was already being laughed at by practically everybody – something made me offer my hand.

"No," I said plainly, "I'm fine. Are… you okay?"

Silence. It didn't take long, to my surprise. But I guess my action was pretty stunning, throwing everyone off base enough to make their vocal cords contract and cause silence. If someone hadn't been watching, they were definitely watching us now. The confusion was as thick as the suspense in the air.

Tweek was fairly still, considering, and while he didn't look up at me, he saw my yellow glove, and was thoroughly baffled. The reasons for why I would do this were easy to imagine through the Spazmoid's brain: I was going to haul him up and shank him in one move, it was a trick and I'd let go before he'd find his balance, I was going to throw him across the room – the situations were endless. There was no questioning the fear and hesitance in his green eyes, and I really felt guilty for all the times I _had_ done things like that, only a year or so ago. Was there no way I could convince him I was being sincere this time?

"I'm not gonna hurt you," I assured him lowly, even though everyone could undoubtedly hear me anyway. It was like talking to a timid, wounded animal. "Really."

If you can believe it possible, his blush deepened, and felt my own face grow hot. Reaching out tentatively, hand trembling, he loosely gripped onto my fingers; he still wouldn't meet my gaze even as I held tight and brought him to his feet with ease. He was so _light_ – ninety pounds, tops. Shit, man.

"Thank you, _ngh_," he muttered, eyelid twitching.

Sighing, I shrugged. "Didn't mean to run into you," I said honestly. "Have you eaten yet?"

"You didn't – GAH! – do anything," the spastic blonde protested, fidgeting with his poorly buttoned shirt hem, "I ran into, _ngh_, into you. I'm sorry!"

I shook my head. Why was he trying to take fault? "No, I didn't look where I was going," I pressed.

"No, I—"

"Hang on, Spazmoid," I interrupted. Raising my voice for the spectators and earning a cringe from the smaller boy in front of me, I shouted, "Eat your goddamned lunch!" Everybody turned away, going back to their own business; I flipped them all off before looking back at the blonde. "Quit beating yourself up. You need food?" I say quieter, putting my hands in my pockets and looking wearily at his decimated meal.

Biting his lip, he twitched dramatically and shifted his weight. "Uh, um…" he tried. "No…"

My first instinct was not to argue, but to shrug and walk away. Part of me wanted to, but another part kept me in place.

"Bullshit," I stated simply. That made him look at me.

I almost couldn't talk, his expression was so disarming. Shocked, confused, and… something else. He looked _good_… cute, you could easily say. There was that word again. I snapped out of it before my pause was too noticeable. "Want some of mine?"

Tweek Tweak stared disbelievingly up at me, as if to convey, _You, __Craig Tucker__, are offering some of your own food to me, Tweek Tweak??_ As if to say, _You have _got_ to be shitting me._

"Seriously," I respond to what I assume he's thinking. "And it isn't poisoned, I swear."

He fidgeted some more, looking away unsurely.

"Aw, c'mon, Tweek!"

An arm fell across my shoulders, and Kenny McCormick, one of the only people in school who had never treated him cruelly, leaned against me, grinning at the caffeine-addict. "Craig doesn't bite. Well—" he deliberated. "At least, not that _I_ know of."

"AUGH!"

Grin growing wider, he jerked his head in the direction of our table, ignoring my glare. "We don't bite either… unless you _want_ us to, of course," he added with a mischievous wink.

"GAH!" His emerald eyes flashed with panic.

"Ignore him," I instructed, flipping off the boy in the orange parka. "Have some food," I told the more paranoid blonde, pushing at Token's shoulder to make him scoot over. Double taking, the chocolate-skinned boy raised an eyebrow. I flipped him off, and he shrugged apathetically as he shifted on the bench to make more room. I sat next to him and waited for Spazmoid to sit, but he didn't. Turning in my seat, I looked back up at him. "What're you—?" I began, but then I heard fat-ass chuckling.

"Jesus, Tweek, are you stupid or something? Hey, hey Craig – what's the twitchy freak doing here, huh?"

"Shut up, fat-ass!" Kyle snapped while I glared and showed the fucker my middle finger. Tweek squeaked. Kyle smiled politely at the small boy. "How's it goin', Tweek?"

God. Leave it to Kyle to unintentionally one-up you.

…Wait, what am I saying? One-up me on _what_?

"I'm, _ngh_, fine," the nervous blonde muttered. He looked down at the floor.

"Hey, Spazmoid. Sit down."

"GAH! I'm sorry!" He climbed clumsily onto the immobile bench, his bag falling to the ground. Once he settled down, Kyle began talking to him. Like, _actually talking to him_. A conversation. It seemed ethereal.

Pulling out a bag of chips and some carrots, I listened carefully, something I hadn't done for a while. The blonde spaz shook the whole time, of course, and his speech was peppered with "GAHs," and _ngh_s," and the rare "_urk_." The redhead truly seemed interested, and eventually even Token joined in on their discussion. At some point, I set the food in front of Spazmoid, who was drinking strong coffee from a thermos he'd produced from his bag. I wondered vaguely how he consumed so much caffeine, when I'd never seen him head for a bathroom.

"I don't! I can't! If my parents caught me, they'd – they'd SELL ME INTO SLAVERY! Oh sweet JESUS!"

Hold up. I thought I was _listening_. Shit, what were they talking about?

"Dude, internet porn isn't gonna get you sent into white slavery. Have you even _tried_ it?"

Oh, I see. Kenny joined in.

"Dude. Leave it alone. So he doesn't wanna watch _porn_!"

"Yeah, _Kyle_, you'd know." Kenny smirked. "Have you ever jacked-off in your _life_?"

The redhead burned red. "The fuck? None of your business, Kenny!"

"I found this one site once," Token started in.

"Busty Asians dot com," Clyde offered with dreamy eyes.

"When did this go from an intelligent conversation to a porn link site?!" Kyle interjected hotly, "Can we _please_ go back to talking about the Korean War?"

"Now I'm curious," Stan threw in, smirk matching Kenny's, who leaned into Butters. Butters' brow furrowed.

Kyle flushed even deeper, and Tweek squealed oddly, twitching violently. The tingling sensation pricked my ear, and I glanced down at the caffeinated kid. He yelped and distracted himself with the bag of chips he couldn't seem to open. As the others carried on with their awkward conversation, the blonde sitting next to me struggled with his small bag of chips for a moment before clutching desperately at his hair, not for the first time today; I know what he'll say before it manages to escape his chapped lips.

"Too… much…"

Swiping it, I held it out and opened my arms wide; Spazmoid was so startled, he shrieked. In my casual blank-faced way, I slammed my hands together, the bag between them, and it burst open with a loud _bang_. Almost everybody in the cafeteria jumped at the sound, _especially_ Tweek.

"SWEET JESUS!" he exclaimed, covering his ears. On the other end of the room, Thomas shouted, "SHITHEAD!"

"Sorry," I said, shrugging and handing over the chips with a small smile for myself. I gotta admit – that was satisfying. Spazmoid hesitantly took the bag from me with trembling hands, holding it before himself awkwardly, as if clueless of what to do with it. "Eat," I order firmly. "…You _do_ know how to do that?" I teased, eying his thin frame.

"Y-yes," he stuttered defensively, plunging his bony hand into the little aluminum bag and withdrawing some crumbled potato chips. Kenny, Stan, and I chuckled quietly as he looked uncertain about the food in his palm. The Spazmoid had to inspect each chip before allowing its presence in his mouth, as though fearing some foreign object would sneak in and choke him. That was probably it. He even _chewed_ cautiously – like Lays didn't just dissolve on your tongue – before swallowing.

I never thought I would be in this situation: Tweek Tweak was sitting next to me at lunch, eating food I gave him, not annoying me in the slightest. The only people that seemed at all opposed to it were Clyde (who was brooding a little bit for some reason), and Cartman (who shut his trap every time I shot him a glare). Cartman eventually let it go, but Clyde remained pissy all lunch. I didn't know why he was so upset – he never had _this_ much disregard for the neurotic blonde.

It took Spazmoid three minutes to eat a single ounce of potato chips. How did he manage to eat anything at all during lunch (which was a whopping thirty-five minutes long), if it took him this long to eat, like, twelve chips?

"Jesus, you're helpless," I said for the second time today. "And _hopeless_, too."

"ACK!" he yelped in surprise. "Am I??" he asks sincerely. "OH GOD, I _AM_!" he wails, twitching severely and dropping his chips to tug at his hair. I couldn't help but snigger.

"Yeah. But whatever," I say noncommittally. Kenny sent me a stern look, and I just flipped him off, getting bored. "Eat those carrots, will you?" I directed toward the Spazmoid, blinking dully. "I don't wanna carry 'em around."

"Can't you just, _ngh_, throw them out?" the jittery kid questioned, staring down at the plastic bag of vitamin A.

I shrugged. "Waste of food."

"Jesus!" He picked up the carrots swiftly, able to open the Ziploc by himself. "You're right! Can't waste food, if you – ngh – waste food, there won't be any GAH! There won't be any LEFT!" Tweek began stuffing carrots in his mouth, chewing frantically as he spoke and somehow not spitting any out. "Then we'd all, _ngh_, STARVE to death, and it'd be ALL MY FAULT!" he continued, words slightly muffled by the food in his mouth, but certainly drawing attention. "SWEET JESUS, I DON'T WANNA DIE!" he screeched, eyes wider than usual as he threw his arms up in panic, sending the remaining carrots flying. I couldn't resist the urge…

I whacked him upside the head lightly, like a criticizing mother to a son who'd just finished saying something phenomenally stupid in public. Which he obviously had.

"Quit it," I snapped tightly, flipping off Cartman as he laughed. "You're not gonna die! Just eat the goddamned carrots."

Nodding and whimpering, Spazmoid rubbed at his head as he shied away, blushing brightly. I felt another of guilt but a more dormant me – the me that had been an asshole to him – mocked it into submission, and I accordingly felt a bit of satisfaction from hitting him. But as the nervous coffee-fiend scooped up carrots, avoiding even the eyes of Stand and Kyle, the most compassionate people here, the guilt reared up again, along with something nameless, and any pride I felt shrank away.

"Dude, you don't hafta _hit_ him," Kyle commented with a slight frown. I flipped him off. Like I didn't already regret it by myself. Jesus. Now my urge to apologize felt forced and fake.

"Hey, Spazmoid," I said quietly. "Lookit me."

I hadn't done it for the longest time until today, but whenever I told him to look at me, he did. Every. Time. For _years_ I'd told him to look at me – especially when I was treating him like shit. Even after I made him bleed, which truthfully I only did once or twice, he'd turn his gaze up to meet mine. This was the second time I'd said it today. Always would he yield the command. Now was no exception.

Quivering naturally, he faced me and peered obediently up at my cold eyes. It took me a moment to respond, though I'm not entirely sure why.

"…Sorry I hit you," I murmured, slightly embarrassed. I was pretty sure everyone at our table was watching us now (and then some), and I wasn't necessarily acting "normal." For _me_, anyway.

"T-that's okay," Spazmoid mumbled awkwardly, fiddling with a button on his skewed shirt mindlessly.

Flipping off everybody else, I sighed and lay my head on my arms, trying to ignore Kenny's tangible grin.

* * *

More **A/N**: Okaaaaaaay, not as long as I thought it was. Reviews are nice, if you think this story/chapter worthy. Please n thanks. =D


	3. Totally Helpless

**EDITED**

**A/N:** Dunno if anyone saw this coming, but here's chapter three... TWEEK'S point of view. ;] I'm gonna do it from both the boys' perspectives, flipping back and forth. Cuz it's _awesome_ like this, and you get a slice of their thought processes better this way. =D

I want to thank the people who reviewed, cuz their reviews made me happy and I wanted EVEN MORE to type up what I've written. XD They were constructive, on the whole, and make me love fanfiction more! X3 So thanks, guys. I owe ya one. =3

And now... CHAPTER THREE of xSecond Chancex! =D

* * *

**Chapter Three  
**

Tweek's P.O.V.

Totally Helpless

Lunch was probably the most bizarre I'd had in a really, really, really long time. Not in a bad way – don't get me wrong! But… Craig being nice to me was, well… _nice_. I really liked it. But it also kinda scared me. I mean, what if he's faking it? What if he's just trying to earn my trust, so he can _lure_ me to his house one day, _attack_ me when my back is turned, and oh GOD, then _tie me up_ to throw me in his basement, where he'll forget about me and I'll _die_ of starvation and vitamin D deficiency –OH JESUS!!

…I am SO paranoid!

He wouldn't want me anywhere _near_ his house!

When they rang the end of lunch bell, scaring the hell outta me, he and his friends kinda just picked up and left. Kenny and Kyle said goodbye to me, though, and Stan even nodded. At least, I _think_ he did. Oh man, I'm not just kidding myself, am I?? But I guess it made me feel a little less stupid for ever having sat down with them.

In fifth period, my latest dose of coffee began to kick in, and I accidentally screamed when the teacher asked me what the slope of _y_=3_x_+5 was. I knew, but I was concentrating on the next problem, and he _surprised_ me! He called on someone else.

Kenny and Stan had the same class, and Kenny gave me a huge grin at my unintentional outburst. Stan smiled, but I didn't know if he was being empathetic or mocking. While I fretted over this, my leg bouncing faster and faster, the bell rang.

"JESUS CHRIST!" I announced automatically, nearly falling out of my chair in my scramble to collect all my things. My thermos rolled forward, and I crawled after it immediately – I need my coffee! Before I could reach it, somebody picked it up.

"MY COFFEE!" I cried, bumping my head on a desk corner trying to stand up. "Please give it back –"

"Chill, Tweek." Kenny smiled. "Here ya go. Your crack, I believe."

Taking it back gratefully, I nodded for no apparent reason. Maybe I was agreeing with him. "Thanks, _ngh_, Kenny."

"I'll walk with you to sixth," he said conversationally, waiting as I went to grab my messenger bag, holding my coffee close to my chest for safekeeping.

"GAH! Okay," I managed in response.

When we were halfway to the German room, Kenny leaned into me, and I whimpered a little at the strange closeness. Nobody liked to get very close to me.

"I know about Craig," he deadpanned.

"Sweet _Jesus_," I squealed. I _knew_ he was up to something! He _never_ walked with me to class! No one did. "Kenny…" I started to plead, pulling on the edge of my shirt anxiously. "Why are you bringing, _ngh_, this – GAH! – up?"

"Things gotta change, Tweek," Kenny chuckled bemusedly. "Isn't that what you want? What you've… _always_ wanted?"

Wincing, I shook my head awkwardly, looking at my feet. "I… I don't, _ngh_, you shouldn't bother me about that, what if… OH GOD! What if _C-Craig_ hears us??" I squealed, scanning the halls for the familiar blue hat of the aforementioned raven.

"Craig comes from the opposite direction."

Twitching, I muttered, "He's… of course it's what I, _ngh_, want."

"Hey, don't look so sad," he said hastily, looking truly worried. He waved his hands and I yelped quietly. "_Augh_, you're too cute!" he groaned.

"ACK!"

"See, I want to help," he went on carefully.

"Please, _ngh_, please don't do anything, Kenny!"

"… Most people say, 'Don't _tell_ anyone.'"

I shook my head frantically. "I see what – GAH! – you do," I explained, "what happens, _ngh_, after you, _ngh_, help people."

"Where does that implicate a 'do,' exactly?"

My eyelid quivered in a particularly noticeable manner. "That _is_ a 'do.'"

Oh god. He's staring at me, isn't he?? Oh sweet Jesus, oh god…! I peek sideways to find I'm right. "Oh GOD!" I wail.

"You're clever." That's all he said. And then he smirked – kindly, if that makes any sense.

We'd reached the German room, and he slipped inside fluidly, snaking around tightly compacted desks toward…

"SWEET JESUS!" Oh shit, did I say that aloud??

Craig looked up at my loud voice, and looked shortly at me before noticing Kenny; visibly tensing, he glared at the grinning, orange-clad blonde, who just sat backwards in the seat ahead of him and leaned in to talk to him.

A million things ran through my head, and I stood rooted to the spot, trying to process at least a few while I panicked. Kenny's revealing what he knows about me, about how I've always felt, and Craig would get up, chase me down, OH JESUS, tackle me, get me pinned, and then oh _man_, he'd notice my boner! AND THEN HE'D KILL ME FOR SURE!! He _would!_ I just knew he would!

"Oh SWEET Jesus!" I screeched in terror.

"Tweek!" someone demanded, and I tripped over my own feet, landing flat on my back.

I cried out, mostly in surprise, a dull ache throbbing in my hips and shoulder; my thermos of liquid heaven rolled into a chair leg a few inches from my head. I didn't hear Cartman laughing – I was focusing on remembering how to move. For some reason, I felt paralyzed, my mind still stuck on the image of Craig's infuriated face over my trembling, pathetic frame. My face was burning, and I knew I was blushing.

I was vaguely aware of making a sort of, "_Nnnnnnnnnnngh_," noise.

"Spazmoid!"

"Tweek!"

"Hahahaha, _heh_ heh, ha –"

"_Cartman_," a low growl warned. The laughter stopped. "Hey, Spazmoid. Hey."

"You _could_ use his name, y'know." I could imagine Kenny getting flipped off for that.

"Spazmoid! C'mon, lookit me…"

I blinked. Maybe. I could've been twitching for all I know. "_Urk_," I managed lamely, wondering why now of all times, I had to act _particularly_ brain-damaged. The dark-haired boy I feared in so many ways came into focus, and I let out an, "ACK!"

Rolling his eyes, Craig Tucker frowned a little. "You okay?"

Shivering consciously, I attempted to sit up, and when I couldn't, I felt paranoia grip at my heart again, and my pulse raced. "I-I-I can't, _ngh_, move!" I stammered nervously, my eyelid twitching. "JESUS CHRIST, I'm _paralyzed_!"

"Christ, you're helpless," Craig repeated, and I could only whimper in reply. "Here."

A cool hand grabbed my wrist, and if it were anybody else, I would've flinched and screamed – but I knew it was Craig, and he wasn't gonna hurt me. Not like he used to, anyway. Before I knew it, I was on my feet, being handed my thermos and left to sit by my own devices.

Trembling, I stared after Craig, unaware of Kenny watching me. My mind spun in circles, which wasn't unusual, unless you consider the fact that it was going 230 bpm instead of its typical 180 bpm.

Why did Craig come over? Just cuz I fell? Why does he care? I fall all the time! I even fell by my own fault… again. Maybe he came over because I wasn't freaking out about it? That must be it – he thought I'd died or something, and only wanted to be sure I was still breathing. But wait, why would he care about _that_, either?? Well, just cuz he was being a lot nicer than usual today doesn't mean he _cares_!

…Does it?

"Tweek, sit down."

"AUGH!" I shouted, throwing myself into the nearest seat, which thankfully was empty, and stared at my desk's graffiti. I was probably bright red, and that thought made me flush even deeper crimson.

As our teacher began explaining the false cognates of body parts, I couldn't stop fiddling with the lid of my thermos, screwing and unscrewing its first lid. It was kind-of noisy, I'll admit, but I needed something to do with my _hands_ right now! If they weren't occupied, I wouldn't know what to do with them, and then I might have a SEIZURE! JESUS!

It took effort not to scream when Herr Meyer called my name.

"Tweek, I think you should put that away."

"Yeah, heh heh, it's very _distracting_," Cartman offered snidely.

"But I _need_ to do something with my _hands_ right now!" I whined tightly, grinding my teeth with frustration. "_Ngh_, if I don't, I might – my hands will – AUGH, they'd fall off!"

Half the class started laughing at me, some groaned, and Kenny eyed me wearily, smiling slightly. Why was he smiling?? Clenching and reclenching my fists as I gawked at them, I pretended there was absolutely no chance that they could _possibly_ fall off.

Herr Meyer sighed dramatically. "Tweek, your hands will not _fall off_ just because you aren't using them for forty-five minutes." Searching through papers on his desk, the tired man pulled out a stack and began distributing them while I struggled to occupy my hands with the edge of my shirt. I didn't look up as I was handed a worksheet, but I just knew people were still staring.

"Use page R26 for the participle, if you forget. You have fifteen minutes," our German teacher informed us, sitting heavily at his desk. I got the feeling he whipped out a worksheet so he wouldn't have to deal with me, but it's not like I could _blame_ him.

It took a moment for the words on the page to stop jumping around, and when I managed to relax enough to read, I had to suppress a squeak at one of the names in the third question. It read: "Craig, wie heisst ______ Lied?" It wanted to know if the 'this' was 'dieser, dieses, or diesen,' but all I could comprehend was the name, leering up at me almost mockingly. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, and I slammed my hand down over the word. "GAH!"

"Tweek," Herr Meyer warned tiredly, raising an eyebrow.

"_Ngh_, I'm sorry! Oh god, I'm SO SORRY!" He was going to throw me out of class, wasn't he?? Sweet Jesus, I'd be sent to the vice principal, and they'd kick me out of school for disturbing the peace, and then I won't be able to get a job, and then – oh CHRIST, I'd become a dirty _hobo_!

Whimpering at the thought, I carefully lifted my hand from the paper, checking to see if maybe his name had dissolved and disappeared while it had been out of sight, but it was still there. Still making fun of me.

I didn't even realize I'd been staring until he turned to frown at me.

"_Urk_," I twitched, fidgeting in place, unable to tear away from his icy blue gaze. How many times had those eyes made me look away, ashamed of daring to meet them? But he wasn't challenging me, he wasn't glaring harshly like he used to, and even his frown was more… _thoughtful_ than peeved. At least, that's what I'm letting myself think.

Token nudged him, and broke the spell; as he looked down, I let out a sigh. I'd been holding my breath. Oh Jesus, if I forget to breathe again, I'd faint, and then I'd be in someone's seat next period! They'd get angry, and _throw me out the_ WINDOW! OH, JESUS!!

I bit my lip hard to keep from shrieking, tugging at my hair. It hurt a little, but it's not like I wasn't used to it. I didn't even draw blood this time; it used to be that I was afraid of breaking the skin of my lip, but I _am_ capable of overcoming certain things! I'd been gnawing at my lower lip for years – because of Craig. The smaller focus of pain took my mind of the abuse I'd been receiving, and then it became a habit for when I was frustrated or nervous. Which is obviously a lot.

The worksheet was too easy, and I completed it fairly fast… which left my jittery hands with nothing to do; I started picking at the skin under my nails. It didn't hurt, not at all, and the way I could stretch it was both nauseating and enthralling at the same time. I became so enraptured in my peeling skin, I didn't notice Kenny standing over my desk until he poked my head.

"GAH! JESUS CHRIST!"

Kenny grinned. "Heya, Tweek." I squeaked in response, balling my hands into fists. "Wanna do the questions together?"

"Questions?" I said hastily. "What questions??"

"The ones we were just assigned," he said, pointing toward the front of the room.

Eyelid twitching, I looked up to the chalkboard and saw a page and an assignment written. "ACK!" Shuffling through the unorganized papers in my binder, I mumbled nonsense to myself. "_Ngh_, where's my blank _paper_??" I asked nobody.

"Relax," the bright-eyed boy at my side said, scooting a desk closer to me and plunking into the seat. "I've got some."

"…Okay," I said tightly, after a moment of unreasonable hesitance. "Thanks, _ngh_, Kenny."

"No problem," he replied easily, setting a sheet in front of me and putting his book on the desk so that it stood upright. He leaned forward and toward me, hiding us behind his book, his friendly grin morphing into a devious smirk.

"Oh, _sweet_ Jesus," I whimpered, balling my hands into fists again.

"About Craig…" he began.

"Listen, _ngh_, can't we just do the work – AUGH!" I was cut off by Kenny's hand resting on my shoulder. I shuddered more potently; he'd come close to me before, only half an hour ago, but his touch still terrified me, even if it _did_ comfort me simultaneously. I confuse myself _way_ too much. If Craig's chilly hands grasping mine were electrifying, but Kenny's gloved hand on my shoulder… I couldn't think about what was wrong with me. I was _so_ screwed up!

"Dude, chill." Kenny rolled his eyes. "It'll only take a second, then I promise we'll do the work, okay?"

As much as I wanted to get up and run away screaming at an octave worthy of a soprano operetta, Kenny had something to say, and when Kenny had something to say, it was usually relevant. At least, it was when it involved other people. I hadn't really had occasion to be visited by his infamous 'discussions' quite yet…

"Eight years."

I twitched, chewing my bottom lip. "What??"

"That's a long time to like somebody, Tweek," he continued mildly, raising his eyebrows pointedly. "_Especially_ when they bully you."

Oh god. Oh sweet Jesus. Oh crap. Oh FUCK!

"I – I don't know what you're talking about," I protested stupidly, at a rapid pace even for me, so it came out more like, "Idohntnowutyertockinbow," which had so much guilt in _itself_ without my nervous help.

"You didn't deny anything in the hall," he reminded me quietly, no accusation at all in his tone.

Didn't I?? I don't even remember what _he_ said – let alone what _I_ said!

"You practically confessed to what easily could've been a bluff or guesswork on my part," he clarified, close to being sympathetic. "I could've been talking about his harassment –"

"But!" I interjected as I began to recall the short conversation, "But everybody already – GAH! – they already, _ngh_, know about that!" My leg bounced restlessly. "It couldn't be about that, cuz – _urk_ – cuz you wouldn't 've had to, _ngh_, say it like you did!!"

Kenny stared at me; after a few agonizing seconds, it felt heavy, and I jolted suddenly. "Too… much… PRESSURE!" I eventually shrieked, bringing my balled fists up to tug at my hair.

"No, dude, it's – you're right," Kenny managed, prying my fingers from my hair. "Y'know, you really are pretty clev—HOLY SHIT, YOU'RE FUCKIN' BLEEDING!" he shouted, deep blue eyes widening in shock as he abruptly leapt to his feet.

I shrieked with surprise, but began inspecting myself for blood, and found my palms had crescent slivers of smeared, dripping crimson, the edges of my nails the same shade of red. Before my brain could register what had happened, I too was on my feet, gawking dumbly at my hands and trembling violently.

"Ah…" I uttered. "AAAAAUUGH!" I shrieked, terrified at last at the sight of my own blood; biting my lip and resulting in blood wasn't same as this, not by a _long_ shot. The pain registered late as well, and I could feel my eyes welling up with tears. "SWEET JESUS! SWEET FUCKING TAP-DANCING BABY JESUS!!" I howled, my knees threatening to give in.

I was so transfixed by my blood, I didn't notice the commotion I was causing in the class. Students were amused, blank, or freaking out, and the teacher was trying to get my attention; I couldn't hear anything, eyes locked on the glistening scarlet leaking from my body. I didn't even notice it when I was being manhandled out the door by two guys with a considerably larger amount of muscle than myself. There is no doubt that I had tears streaming down my face. While I wasn't bawling, I was definitely crying. I hadn't cried in _months_. I was doing so _well_, and now this!

Time didn't flow for me right then, there was just panic and disorientation, and of course, the blood on my palms and fingers. Some far-back part of my brain vaguely noted there'd be some in my hair, too, but I wasn't aware of it yet.

"—azmoid! Spazmoid!"

I was sitting now. I could tell, cuz my leg started bouncing again.

"SPAZMOID! Spaaaaaaaaaaaazmoid!"

It didn't even hurt that much. Not _really_.

"Hey. Seriously. Try his name."

Shutting my eyes, I bit down on my lip again.

"TWEEK."

"GAH!"

Silence. Craig stared intensely at me, brow furrowed, mouth turned down in an emotional _scowl_. I stared back, slack-jawed. I think my eyelid twitched.

He was so _beautiful_ in emotion; he hardly ever wore a proper _expression_. He took a deep breath, not breaking eye contact. "Are you okay?" he murmured darkly.

"_Ngh_," I said, one of my non-responses. My body began shaking like it normally did, and the bizarre concept of having been motionless for any amount of time made me convulse; I ended up looking at my bloody hands again. Another scream built up in my throat, but it couldn't escape before someone else's hands covered mine. They were bigger, paler. Colder.

I squeaked pathetically.

"Don't freak out again," Craig commanded tensely, pulling my hands farther away from my face. "The nurse is coming."

Twitching, I trembled at his cool touch, unable to look away from our physical contact, sure I was letting my body give me away.

"Dammit," Kenny muttered, pacing. "This is my fault. I shouldn't 've bothered you. I should've _known_ this could – _would_ happen! Fuck."

"_Ngh_, it's not your fault, Kenny," I disagreed, my cheeks undoubtedly hot pink. "I – I did this to myself JESUS!"

Craig was wiping blood off my fingers with tissues, face free of sentiment, like he was doing a chore.

"AUGH!" I screeched, trying to pull my hands away, but he held them firmly with one hand, throwing away a bloody tissue with the other. "C-Craig! Don't do _that_! What if – GAH – I had a _disease_ or something?!" I started trying to scoot as far back in my seat as I could, which wasn't very far. I couldn't get Craig _sick_! "JESUS CHRIST, I could _kill_ you, C-Craig!"

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Have a disease?"

"_Ngh_, no!"

"Then shut up, Spazmoid," he said flatly, half-heartedly, grabbing more tissues; when he let go to stand and head for the small sink near the door, I brought my knees up to my chest and began licking at my sliced palms. My mom once told me your own saliva could stall bacteria cuz the enzymes or something… unless she was talking about sucking food stains, or… something. CRAP. I was eating my own blood for _nothing_! "Urk," I squeaked, slightly disgusted with myself. Smacking my lips, I whimpered at the salty, rusty taste of my blood.

"Dude."

Flinching, I cried out.

"Don't lick your wounds when we can clean them," Kenny suggested, moving aside for Craig to kneel in front of my chair once more.

"Gimme your hands," the boy in the blue hat demanded. I didn't even hesitate this time. "You're absolutely helpless," he reminded me tersely. "Was there ever a time you _didn't_ damage yourself?" he asked. But was it rhetorical, or did he want an answer?? "Seriously," he added, confirming my worry. Kenny cocked his head curiously.

I jittered thoughtlessly, frowning. I knew, but wasn't so sure telling them would do anybody any good. And god, what if I told them, and they laughed at me, and threw tissues – BLOODY TISSUES – at me, and I got AIDS?! Sweet _Jesus_, then I'd die! "GAH!" I screeched. "Don't give me AIDS!"

Craig paused, stared blankly at me, and exchanged a skeptical look with Kenny, who looked amused otherwise.

"I'm not the one bleeding all over someone. You _said_ you didn't have anything," he rebutted darkly, narrowing his azure eyes in suspicious warning. I swallowed hard and bit down on my lip. He sighed, pushing himself to his feet, leaving me with much cleaner hands; tossing the tissues in the garbage, he leaned against a wall and put his hands in his pockets, like he normally did in the morning at our bus stop.

"Oh, _goodness_, I'm sorry," said a lady in flower-print scrubs, bustling in and lifting my hands; I squealed in my strained way, twitching at her hot skin. She gave me a wary look. "Oh, Tweek," she sighed sadly. "Did you do this to yourself?"

"GAH!" She let me pull my arms back while she went to some cabinets. "I didn't, _ngh_, mean to!" Shaking more intensely, I spoke too fast. "I just, just got, _ngh_, nervous!" I explained, unable to stop gaping at the little slivers in my palms again. "JESUS, am I gonna _die_??" I asked as the horrible thought occurred to me.

"No, I don't think so," she answered with a good-natured laugh. I looked up in time to see Kenny make a face at her. Oh god, does that mean he thinks I _will_ die?? CRAP! "Let's clean and wrap you up," the nurse went on, turning around with a bottle of peroxide and cotton balls in her hands.

"ACK," I yelped, "That stuff _hurts_!"

"I think we'll leave you two alone," Kenny interjected jokingly, elbowing Craig suggestively. They went for the door.

"Oh GOD – _please_ don't leave me, _ngh_, alone!" I blurted before I knew what I was saying.

Everybody became still, watching me with particular flatness.

I just exposed yet another pathetic, vulnerable part of me to Craig, Kenny, and a complete stranger. I'm always alone, or so it seems, so what am I shouting about? As if I wasn't enough of a freak already. "GAH, WHAT?!" I questioned. "This is _way_ too much pressure, _ngh_!"

"Don't put your hands in your hair, dear, you'll get all – oh. Well, too late, I suppose. Now it's in your hair, silly goose!"

"_Ngh_, what is??"

"Blood," Craig and Kenny answered for her in unison.

"SWEET JESUS!" I slammed my head into he wall behind me when I jerked backward, and a sharp pain shot through my skull; I moaned, rubbing at the bruise I could feel forming on top of the one I'd gotten that morning.

"Oh, _Tweek_," the nurse grumbled. I'd never had this nurse before. I was no stranger to the nurse's office, but while I was friendly with the other two nurses, I didn't even know this woman's name; she probably knew me through stories they'd told about me. Cuz really, who _doesn't_ know about the twitchy freak?

Sucking in through my teeth to keep from crying, I whimpered as the lady inspected the new injury with her scalding hands, tsking and urging my own hands away. "Hold still," she instructed professionally, and I tried to stop trembling, but the caffeine in my veins wouldn't let me. "You boys can go now," she called over her shoulder, startling me.

Glancing sideways, I saw Craig standing firmly, frowning slightly and watching us tensely, his sapphire eyes hard; Kenny tugged on his shoulder, and with what seemed like reluctance, Craig slowly turned and they left. Just before the door shut, I saw the hooded boy wink.

I bit my lip to refrain from crying out in alarm.

By the time the seventh bell rang, my hearty nurse (whose name I _still_ hadn't learned) let me go to Homeroom with my hands slathered in salve and wrapped in white gauze. I couldn't seem to decide if they were too tight or too loose, but either way, my head was convinced there was _something_ to worry about, _something_ was going to fall off.

When I stumbled into Mr. Takamiya's room with a yelp, heads turned, but as per usual, the only one I noticed right away donned a blue hat with a yellow pouf. His cold blue gaze skimmed my face, my damp hair, and drifted down to look at my bandaged hands; he glared, shoulders tensing. As I stood there stupidly, shaking like I do, the dark-haired boy turned away, facing outside the window by his desk. I blushed, putting my hands behind my back; feeling ashamed and somehow deaf to the teacher's scolding, I shuffled to my desk.

I stared numbly down at my jittery hands. How could I be so _stupid_? I inconvenienced both Kenny _and_ Craig, and now Craig was back to being hostile – like always. Even my negative, paranoid mind had held some small hope that maybe, just _maybe_, things could be changing.

A mocking, unintended jerk forward accompanied by an outburst of, "SWEET JESUS!" told me I was being excessively naïve today. A tiny sting threatened my eyes, and I clamped down on my bottom lip to control a likely cascade of tears.

* * *

**A/N** again: kwnev3qjnuxmfnb llofhinbsi3o4rhjbhj ;! Tweek isn't getting his point across quite the way I wanted him to, but OH WELL. And he's being so silly. But Craig is even SILLIER, so things... well, _shouldn't_, but _do_ even out.

This was so much fun to write, you don't even KNOW. _God_, I love this kid. X3


	4. Take It

**A/N**: GUESS WHO HAS SWINE FLU?? XD

But seriously. The doc said they're diagnosing any flu symptoms as swine flu RIGHT AWAY, even without the actual tube-up-your-nose test. =_=' So while my fever-and-cough doesn't _feel_ like swine flu, it's getting _referred to_ as such. OH WELL, it's amusing to me, and it means I had all day to type this up and watch South Park... until the internet failed, then I focused on this. But it's back now, so HERE YA GO, my wonderful peeps! X3

Enjoy, even though I sorta faltered on this one. *domo*

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Craig's P.O.V.

Take It

He was probably beating himself up about his hands. There was little doubt in my mind that he didn't worry he'd caused too much trouble. Knowing him (if I could even say that), he was likely to think everyone hated him and now wanted to punch him in the face. What he didn't know was that no one technically _hated_ him. They just wished he'd shut up. I mean, the trembling and twitches people could get over, but his frantic and loud shrieks of dismay, they could not.

His gauze-wrapped hands tugged at his chaotic golden hair, and I thought he bit down on his lip even harder. Whether or not he was fretting over that incident, his distress was particularly apparent, and another of those stupid pangs in my chest made me look over at him again. At least this one wasn't as weird as the one last period… that one _throbbed_. The second I honed in on his shimmering emerald eyes, his head snapped in my direction, and I sort-of stopped breathing for a moment.

What the fuck?

Forcing myself to look away, I ignored his small, "_Ngh_," and assessed myself, something I hadn't done in over a year.

First: I wanted to look at him.

Second: Whenever he got hurt, I got angry – and not at _him_. I wasn't, like, _enraged_ or anything, but I couldn't say I wasn't annoyed.

Third: This strange turn of events was happening at an unearthly pace. This isn't like me. Craig Tucker doesn't get upset at Tweek Tweak's pain. It just doesn't happen.

So why _was_ it happening?!

Token's elbow jabbed into my side, and I grunted, preoccupied; it took me a second to realize our teacher was watching me uncertainly. I blinked; I'd been glaring at him.

"…And so tomorrow, despite Mister Tucker's evident dislike for the idea," he eyed me pointedly, "we'll be playing a few trust games, and will continue to do so for the next few days." Mr. Takamiya frowned and folded his arms. "I will put you in groups…" I wasn't the only one who groaned. "And if anybody here purposefully abuses somebody else's trust, they'll be having a talk with the vice principal," he added sternly, raising an eyebrow at me significantly. I flipped him off; it didn't take a genius to know whom he planned on putting in my group.

I felt his gaze on me, and glanced tiredly back at him. Spazmoid studied his bandages again.

Mr. Takamiya handed out a packet of homework, though what we ever did in _class_ to have homework on I don't know. I didn't even give it a second glance after it was set in front of me – I just shoved it in my binder and pulled out my English book. I hadn't read to chapter five yet, and was supposed to do this stupid journal thing for it. Naturally, I didn't want to, but I liked the book enough to actually read it without rolling my eyes at its mention.

Catcher In The Rye, by J.D. Salinger. I liked it a lot more than I thought I would. Everybody else complained that the main character was stupid, or retarded, or that everything he did was a waste of time; not that anything he did was _worth_ the time he spent doing it. But Holden was… like me, I guess. Only I'm not A.D.D. Which Holden obviously was. Okay, so I suck at explaining things. Sue me. Point is, the book was could, and I would read it again of my own free will.

While I wittingly turned past chapter seven, it occurred to me that I'd been perfectly content in my hostility towards Tweek until our class started the Catcher In The Rye unit. It was weird, really, because trying to figure out what happened that would've affected my attitude or thought process _that_ much was proving difficult. It _had_ to have been the book, though, because it wasn't until after seventh period last Friday, when I forgot the jittery kid existed for the whole weekend, that I began reading the damn thing. And now this. I _had_ to have at least started changing a _little_ once I pulled the thing out. I had to have changed, it's the only explanation – _Spazmoid_ certainly didn't. He's still his paranoid, twitchy self, while _I'm_ warming up.

Oh god, that sounds stupid.

But it's true. Even _I_ can admit I'm a little less cold than I was last week.

How annoying.

"Craig."

Someone shook my shoulder shortly, and I blinked, waking from my thoughts. "What?" I grumbled, peeved at the interruption.

"Let's talk," Kenny murmured deviously, grinning wide enough to give the Cheshire Cat a run for his money, right next to my face. I flashed him my favorite gesture and pushed at his forehead, making him chuckle and put his stolen chair closer to mine. "Lunch was good. You should have him join us more often."

I stared icily, silently warning him to drop it. I was only just starting to figure shit out, and he wasn't necessarily helping. "Why don't _you_?" I lowed grudgingly.

"It'd be good for both of you," he continued, either oblivious to my irritated comment or ignoring it. "Kyle and Token enjoyed themselves, and even Butters was more talkative." He bumped my shoulder. "If you don't do it, guess who will?" he threatened lightly, using my earlier suggestion against me.

I glared darkly, putting my middle finger in front of his nose. "How do you know he _wants_ to? Far as I can tell, I still scare him shitless," I growled, daring him to counter.

It took him less than a millisecond. "Oh, he _does_, and you definitely _do._ But it's more than you think, _Craig_." He said my name mockingly, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"You going anywhere with this?" I snarled, getting properly aggravated.

"…Take it."

I blinked. "Take what?"

"That second chance you're wondering about in the back of your head. Duh."

Before I could come up with a decent response, or even flip him the bird again, the bell rang; he practically flew out the door and, metaphorically, I was left alone.

"…The fuck?" I asked nobody.

My eyes found Spazmoid, head down, clutching a thermos to his chest, trying to get out the door in the stream of people. This time, when I stood to help him, I didn't stop myself. Without letting my head try to reason against my actions, I weaved through the crowd, blocking the door and getting right behind the messy-haired coffee fiend.

"C'mon, Spazmoid," I said.

He cried out in shock, leaping into the air… and into Damien's back.

"Fuck," I muttered.

"ACK! SORRY!" Tweek shrieked, bright red as the Son of Satan turned slowly and stared ominously down at him.

Damien towered over the nervous blonde at a good six-foot two-inches. He was the silent, don't-fuck-with-me type of guy – similar to me, I guess – and people normally avoided bodily contact whenever humanly possible, for fear of some wrath we hadn't necessarily even seen yet. Of course, the mystery made him all the more terrifying. Spazmoid whimpered softly, and the crowd of pushing students halted; all became silent as people held their breath, awaiting an explosion.

"It was an accident – it was _my_ fault, even."

Another moment of absolute silence passed before I realized it was me who'd spoken.

Well.

No sense stopping now.

"He even apologized," I went on, my tone challenging. I locked gazes with his demonic crimson eyes, and didn't falter once. "So can we get to seventh now?" I almost threw in a 'please,' but decided against it at the last second, thinking it would be slightly counterproductive.

For what felt like forever, Lucifer's spawn and I stared at each other. I could sense everyone's entranced eyes on us, and wondered if this was honestly the most interesting thing to happen to anybody today. We'd even gathered an audience out in the hall. Jesus.

Damien smirked. I blinked, flipping him off.

There was a small, collective gasp, and Spazmoid's shivering intensified. "C-Craig," he uttered quietly, his voice more strained than usual, truly frightened. "You—"

"Sure," Damien finally said, clearly amused at my bravado. He took a step sideways, and I gave the Spazmoid a little push forward; he leapt out into the hall with a squeak, and everybody scrambled away to avoid any possible conflict. The scarlet-eyed teenager watched me urge Tweek further away.

"C-Craig," the caffeine addict stammered, trying to look up at me over his shoulder as I continued pressing him onward. "Why'd you, _ngh_, DO that?? What if he – oh SWEET JESUS! What if he comes after, _urk_, after you in your sleep, _ngh_, and – GAH! – kills you in your dreams?!" he worried aloud wildly, twitching. "Oh my god, and it's all my _fault_! AUGH!"

"Dude, shut up," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "…Can he do that?" I end up wondering curiously. He _is_ the Anti-Christ – who _knows_ what that broody bastard could do? "You worry too much," I dismiss when he whimpers at my question. But something nagged at the farthest part of my brain that maybe I didn't worry _enough_. No one really knew what Damien was capable of, so why wasn't I at least little worried? How should _I_ know if he held grudges over things like this?

Fuck, was Spazmoid's paranoia contagious or something?

"Thanks, _ngh_, C-Craig," he mumbled in a barely audible strain.

I left him standing outside the music hallway, my cheeks oddly warm. A hand raised in acknowledgement, I continued down the hall without looking back. Some girls brushed past and made a little noise akin to giggling.

I'm starting to doubt how well I know myself – or anybody else, for that matter. I wanted to… be around that crazy blonde. Maybe even talk to him. I don't usually want to _talk_ to people, so the urge to have a real _conversation_ with the nervous kid was an alien feeling.

How weird _is_ this shit?

Wait, if I was thinking, maybe acting differently, what did it matter? It's not like people would stop staring or gossiping anyway. They did what they liked, so it shouldn't mean anything if I started giving them whole new things to talk and giggle about during passing time. They're probably convinced I don't know, the lot of them. I won't flatter myself, but it's not like I've never looked in a mirror. Girls also apparently have a thing for guys who completely disregard them. I 'disregard' a lot of girls. And guys, I guess. It amazes me how disinterest draws attention.

Anyway, for some reason, being unattainable adds to popularity, so I'm "hot" – a prize date, if you will. Thankfully no one's approached me since last year. Maybe they've taken a hint enough to 'admire' me from _afar_.

Restating my point: Fuck it.

Tweek Tweak, you and I are going to sort things out. Or… something. I've got all English class to come up with something to say, to make up for years of bullying and harassment, and to confess I really feel stupid about it.

…Fuck.

I nearly laugh bitterly at myself as I ironically think, _The pressure is on._

-

As soon as school let out, I bolted for my locker. I was going to catch Spazmoid before we got on the bus if it killed me. I had something planned out, something to say on the tip of my tongue, but when I saw his tufts of unruly flaxen hair bob as he took stuff out of his messenger bag, it all dissolved into nonsense. I blinked, staring dumbly at his locker number before deciding to stand behind him like I had that morning.

"Hey, Spazmoid." I've been saying that a _hell_ of a lot lately, haven't I?

"JESUS CHRIST!" Again he jerked forward, slamming his head on the metal shelf before him, knocking the same spot he had hours ago. Whimpering, he whirled around, and I felt my pulse falter at the pain on his face. "C-Craig!" he stuttered. "What're, _ngh_, you doing here??" he asked, genuinely surprised.

I shrugged, tugging lightly at one flap of my hat. "M' locker's right there," I offered, gesturing behind me and automatically flipping off a pair of gaping sophomores. Yep, we were getting noticed again. What a shock.

"Oh yeah," he mumbled bashfully, averting his gaze and fidgeting with his shirt as he bit his lower lip. He was pressed up against the metal shelves of his locker, as if my proximity scared him. It occurred to me shamefully that he still was – afraid of me, I mean. Not like I could blame him. _I_ would be, if I were him.

"…How are you?" I recognize how awkward it sounds only after I've already said it.

He stares up at me suddenly, eyes wide in awe. I blink. Those eyes… were _huge_. Like, fucking enormous! They weren't buggy or anything bizarre like that, they were just _big_. Holy shit. Tweek's emerald gaze was intense, too, when you met it up close like I was, when you let it sink in. If I didn't know better (which, again, I can't really say I _do_), I'd say he was searching for something in _my_ eyes. Some sign of mocking or amusement or disgust in my intent. He was so self-conscious. Even if I'd never met him, just a few seconds of looking at those shimmering green eyes, full of anxiety and self-loathing and fear…

Self-loathing?

"Fuck _me_."

"WHAT??" he shrieked, utterly confused.

"Nothing," I quickly cover up. "Spazmoid, you don't…" I glance at his hands, curled haphazardly in his poorly buttoned shirt's hem, and decide against asking a stupid personal question. "Are your hands okay?"

He twitched, looking down at them unsurely. "Yeah, _ngh_, I'm fine…" he mumbled awkwardly. "Sorry Herr Meyer made you take me to the, _ngh_, to the nurse's," he said tightly, his stressed voice scrunching up his words.

"Herr Meyer didn't make me do anything," I said flatly, not thinking it through first.

"ACK! Oh my god, you're, _ngh_, RIGHT! I bet it was Kenny, did Kenny, _ngh_, force you to help me??" he panicked. I frowned a little at the mention of Kenny, both confused and annoyed; he mistook it for anger, and squeaked, shrinking away slightly. "_Ngh_, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, _ngh_, make you mad! OH GOD!" he wailed with fright, shutting his eyes and turning his face away as if he thought I was going to hit him.

A pang of pure guilt and, strangely enough, _sorrow_ stung my chest. I hadn't hit him in a flinch-worthy manner since freshman year – he didn't _really think_ I was gonna start up again, did he? Way to go, Craig.

"No," I murmured, flipping off more nosy passers-by without moving, "That's not what I meant. I'm not mad or anything."

He peeked cautiously up at me, trembling. "Really?"

"Really. Has Kenny been talking to you?"

"He… I… _ngh_," he began quietly, opening his eyes and hanging his golden head to tug mercilessly at his hair. "I… we…! GAH! Too much PRESSURE!" he yelled, grasping ever more desperately at his messy locks, twitching severely and vibrating on the spot.

"Hey, relax," I said, raising an eyebrow and taking a step back to give him some room at last. "I'm sorry I asked, it's none of my business," I said, guilt riding on my back. I'm a genius. Obviously, the way to make amends was to literally _corner_ him with a prying question. I sigh, putting my hands in my pockets.

"That's okay, _ngh_, C-Craig," he managed after calming a little.

"No it's not," I disagree, eyeing him wearily. "You don't hafta just accept everything, y'know."

"Oh my god, I'm SORRY!"

"Or _apologize_ for everything," I added firmly. His naivety was starting to annoy me in the sense that I wanted so badly to fix it.

He bit his lip hard. We stood in awkward silence for a moment before I turned and opened my own locker for tonight's homework necessities, feeling his big green gaze on me the whole time. Why didn't I notice those eyes all those years ago? Maybe things would be different if I had. They were truly disarming, when you looked at them for more than a few seconds. In a way, I couldn't get my head around their… vigor. But while they were profound, they really gave away every insecurity he could possibly have. At least, I _thought_ they did; his emerald orbs screamed vulnerability, paranoia, fear, and distrust.

Can't say I was surprised.

I had gone through the motions of preparing to go home, and only realized I was waiting outside for the bus when my fingertips grew cold. Blinking, I looked down at my hands.

Where were my gloves?

"_Ngh_, C-Craig?"

My gloves thrust themselves out in front of me, and the outstretched arm attached to them was quivering slightly. His gauze was a little dirty, and I could just barely see the blood stains from the other side. I held out my hand, and the yellow acrylic fell into my palm. Spazmoid's arm quickly withdrew, and I pulled the warm knits over my stiff fingers gratefully.

"Thanks," I mutter, pretending I wasn't a tiny bit embarrassed.

He nodded, backing away before running towards the café down the street again. If he had time, he'd fill a thermos with as much coffee as it could hold.

"Sit next to him."

It took effort not to flip him off. "Drop it, Kenny."

"So he _has_ been talking to you."

Turning slightly, I blinked at Stan, genuinely taken aback. "…Hm," I grunt noncommittally. While I no longer hated Stan Marsh, we weren't necessarily friends in the same way I was friends even with Kenny – who I could now see was standing five feet to my left, wrapped around Butters, who was unknowingly being ripped on by that douche bag Cartman.

Stan sidled up next to me silently, smiling to himself. "You probably figured this out, but it's kind-of obvious you're acting totally unlike yourself. Why the sudden change?"

"Do you care?" I retorted tensely.

He chuckled, glancing down the street for any sign of the bus. "Not in the same way everybody else does. I'm just curious for the reasons. You know me. I just gotta know _why_." He smiled.

Watching my breath come out in a misty cloud, I sighed. "…Maybe I'm tired of treating him like shit. Is that satisfying enough for the gossip column?" I bit, even though he just said he wanted the motive behind it. Why was I explaining myself, to _Stan_ of all people – to _anyone_? Frowning at my Converse, I decided I'd punch the next interrogator to come my way.

"Hell no," Stan scoffed. "Thankfully, gossip columns aren't my forte. That's good enough for me, though," he joked, smiling again.

For some odd reason, I felt no urge whatsoever to flip him off. "Right," I mumbled.

"…Don't look now, but you're being ogled," he said, clearly amused.

Rolling my eyes, I shift my weight and prepare to pull my gloved hand out of my pocket and offer my infamous opinion on the matter when that tingling sensation pricked my _cheeks_.

"And I don't mean by Bebe and her gir—" Stan started to clarify, but was cut-off as my head snapped up suddenly.

Spazmoid was on the other side of the street, waiting at the crosswalk and watching me. At least, he was until I met his eyes. I heard his yelp of shock over the mild traffic, and found myself tilting my head at the sight of him from a distance. I hadn't had a good look at all of him any further than five feet away from me for the longest time, and could now confirm what I'd basically assumed: He was small (maybe average next to girls), five-seven at the _most_, maybe 110 pounds tops. He was rail-thin, and every time a car passed, I got this weird idea that the drag wind would knock him over or break him in half or something. His entire, fragile frame quivered, and he stood sort-of… sort-of hunched, huddled into himself, like he was protecting something, like maybe his coffee.

Possibly himself.

A small, distractable part of my mind noted he stood pigeon-toed, but walked with his feet pointed slightly outward.

The small, twitchy boy kept his head down as he swiftly crossed the street, and he stayed on the sidewalk at the end of the bus stop's crowd, shakily sipping from his newly filled thermos. I picked that up for him this morning.

…Which is relevant …why? Whatever. I can't think straight.

A blaring honk broke through my aimless thoughts, and Stan yanked on my hood, pulling me away from the curb; I'd unconsciously begun leaning out into the street to see Spazmoid even from where I stood.

"Dude, you tryin' to kill yourself?" the dark-haired guy asked disbelievingly, irate. "That woman wasn't gonna brake for you," he reminded me, referring to our returning bus driver – the crazy lady from elementary school. Only in middle school did someone else do our route.

"Thanks, then," I mutter, not ungrateful, but shrugging off his hand nonetheless. For a morbid moment, I wondered if it would've been easier to think with my brain all over the asphalt. Only when I trailed after Stan onto the bus did it strike me that that was the stupidest thing I'd thought all this month.

As per usual, I staked my claim of the farthest back seat, splaying myself out to take up space. Stan was sitting a few seats up to my left, saving a spot for Kyle; Kenny ushered Butters ahead of him, and into the seat across from his athletic friend. And then Tweek got on. Well, stumbled on.

The caffeinated nut trembled, eyes darting between empty seats as he shuffled guardedly down the aisle.

"Hurry _up_, Tweek!" Cartman whined from behind.

"GAH!" the blonde exclaimed, "This is _way_ too much pressure!"

"Hey, Spazmoid."

"SWEET JESUS!"

I didn't even blink. "Get back here."

"Heh heh, you're in for it now, Spazmoid! You've pissed off Craig!" the fat-ass snickered stupidly. I flipped him off while Tweek cried out in terror.

"C'mon, Spazmoid," I repeated, scooting over, next to the window.

"C-Craig?" the confused kid questioned.

Absolutely everybody stared. I didn't notice, but Clyde was already sitting in front of me, so he turned around fully to suspiciously raise an eyebrow . Cartman looked excited. Kenny was glaring. Jesus, did they all think I was gonna hurt him or something?

"You need a seat, right?" I asked, pointing out the fact that he'd been second to last getting on the bus, and therefore missed every open seat. "So get back here."

Clyde gawked. Cartman grunted, facing forward in disappointment. Kenny, Kyle, Stan, and Buttters beamed, which freaked me out a little bit, to be honest. The bus driver screamed for everyone to sit down.

Shrieking, as if echoing the crazy lady, Tweek Tweak made his way (with waning balance) towards me. The bus suddenly jolted into motion, and predictably, he tripped. What wasn't as predictable was where he landed.

It shouldn't have even fazed me, as Fate was already fucking with my head, but I found my face flushing and my heart going off beat.

"AUGH!" he yelped, falling across my lap. "Oh my _god_ – oh, man, I'm sorry, C-Craig! _Ngh,_ I didn't mean to!" he apologized at high speed – not that he didn't always talk too fast. "Oh JESUS, I'M SO SORRY!" he wailed, scrambling to sit up; I didn't move a muscle, frozen in shock.

"Dude," I said at last, earning a squeak. "You're fine. Clumsy," I accused mildly, shrugging, "But fine. It was an accident." I smirked at his vibrant blush – there was still a satisfaction to be had from it.

"Sorry," he repeated in a small, notably quiet voice. He couldn't look me in the eye, trembling where he sat upright.

Some of my friends were watching us with detached interest, a few appearing on the brink of throwing in their two cents (Kenny especially – grinning like a madman), but I flashed my favorite finger and they turned around before I could frown in addition. I was still pink-cheeked, but it was nothing compared to the Spazmoid, who was at least a decent magenta. He kept tapping his nails on his thermos (or what he had left of them), occasionally taking a sip and letting out a small sigh of relief.

He was warm, when he landed on me. I don't often touch people, but I'm pretty sure when I do, none of them are as warm as he was. I wondered if he just ran a lot hotter than everybody else, the same why Kenny might, or I if just had poor circulation. Both seemed pretty likely at this point.

"Stop that," I commanded after a while, really just for something to say; he made a little strangled noise and held onto his colorful thermos tightly to resist tapping again.

"Sorry," he murmured shyly. "Sorry, _ngh_, C-Craig."

"Hm," I responded, setting my elbow on the minimal sill and resting my chin on my palm as I gazed tiredly out the dirty, frosted window. It was incredible how changes in mindset could be so bloody _draining_. Exhaustion was setting in already, and I sighed slowly, heavily.

"Is something, _ngh_, wrong, C-Craig?"

It took me a moment to find a suitable answer. Talking to him, however short a conversation it may be, was still a weird concept altogether. "No," I murmur, "I'm just… thinking."

Well. The truth. Huh.

He was obviously perplexed, but I extended no explanation.

Allowing my fatigue to take me, I closed my eyes and initiated the first stage of sleep. As I began to drift, I smirked a little to myself.

That was the first time I ever let the Spazmoid be my last conscious thought. And you know something? I was okay with that.

About as 'okay' as 'okay' can get.

* * *

**A/N II**:And you thought "Take It" meant something else, didn't you? XD

And I know somewhere in this chapter or last, I typed "could" instead of "good." I must have an odd case of dyslexia or something. O_o'

Okay, sorry for fail. Hope it was less than I think it is. ._.' Sorry for inconsistencies, too, if they're in there (I wouldn't put it past me).

Thanks for reading! And remember... Reviews are my reason for typing this up! ;]


	5. Apologies, Spazmoid

**Pre A/N**:Faster than I thought it would be. BUT I was on DeviantArt, and someone's comment sent me straight to work ;] (you know who you are).

**A/N**: Hrr. Tweek's thoughts kinda make no sense. They go in circles. _He_ goes in circles, silly boy. Um, can't remember what I wanted to say… maybe I will in a little bit. ^_^' ONWARD, VALIANT COHORTS!

**Dedimacations**: This is for Akumi-san and zeromotion. Hope it's worth your EXCELLENCE in reviews and doujinshi. =3 Lurve~xichxliebexdichx

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Tweek's P.O.V.

Apologies, Spazmoid

Oh my _god_, he was asleep! What if he missed our stop and had to hitchhike home at the end of the line?? Wait, do school buses _have_ an 'end of the line,' or just a last stop? What if he hitchhiked with some psychotic, cannibalistic serial killer that slit his throat and removed his skin so he could eat his organs?! Or, suppose he didn't even wake up, and the driver didn't notice, OH CHRIST, and locked him in?? He'd wake up in the dark, in some garage somewhere, and then he couldn't get home, and his parents would freak out and call the police! But no one would find him, and he'd starve to death overnight! OH MY GOD, THEN HE'D BE _DEAD_!!

Clapping my bandaged hands over my mouth, I swallowed my panic, watching his gorgeous sleeping form lie limply against the window. Then it occurred to me that it would be all my fault he didn't get off at the right stop – I'd have to wake him up, being the one sitting next to him, after all. But I didn't want to _disturb_ him! He looked so… so…!

_AUGH_, what am I _thinking?!_ I can't think like that right now! What if he woke up and saw me staring?? He'd know I wanted to move closer, and then he'd flip me off and tell me to sit somewhere else! But I wouldn't have anywhere to sit, so I'd end up on the floor, where I'd get trampled flat by people getting off the bus! SWEET JESUS! I don't _want_ to be a pancake! I don't even _like_ pancakes!

"I like _waffles_!" I announced argumentatively.

The people in the last three seats turned to stare uncomfortably, including Kenny; I said some pretty ridiculous shit when I freaked out, but not quite like _that_. I felt the heat in my cheeks spike, and I yanked my head down by tugging on my stupid, crazy hair, mumbling a thousand apologies and realizing how brainless that all was. I didn't meet the hooded boy's gaze, even though I knew it wasn't patronizing, and instead shook my head for his benefit, whimpering.

It was surprising Craig hadn't woken up at my outburst, but my relief was endless. I really didn't care to disturb the one time he looked so placid. His usually blank expression wasn't the same as his expressionless sleep – his conscious face exuded indifference or mild irritation, even though it remained blank. His quiescent face was more serene, as cliché as that is, and it made my chest hurt more than even his smirk could. He had _no_ idea how he made me feel, even if I shouldn't feel this way for my post-tormentor. I must be _sick_ – maybe I'm a masochist! Maybe the reason I couldn't get him off my mind… was cuz I liked the torture?? But that couldn't be it, because today, when he started treating me differently (better, I must admit), I liked it a lot. It was confusing and _scary_ of course, because it was so _alien_, and I didn't entirely trust the change (which I can't even blame myself for), but it gave me new floods of whatever you want to call my feelings for him.

…Oh man, I'm _so_ fucked up.

"What're you doing?"

"GAH! SWEET JESUS!" I shrieked, falling sideways into the aisle and twisting my arm oddly, my thermos rolling under Stan and Kyle's seat. "_Ow_," I squeaked, trying to get up and failing miserably due to my angle. "Holy Christ!" I began to fret, "I'll get stuck like this, and never be able to get off the bus, and they'll have to _pry me apart_ just to–"

"Helpless," he muttered, and my flailing wrists were seized firmly; in under a second, Craig hoisted me back into the seat, eying me wearily. "A bump woke me up. Why were you pulling your hair again?"

And we're back to the blank face.

I sighed shortly to myself, avoiding his alluring cerulean gaze. "I was, _ngh_, being stupid again," I hastily explained, twisting the edges of my shirt, which peeked out from under my sweater. "Sweet Jesus, I'm _sorry_!" I forced myself to say quietly.

"Stop _apologizing_, dude," he muttered with annoyance, sighing.

I bit my lip.

"…Do you even know you're making those noises?" he asked gently, his tone genuinely curious.

My head snapped up to look at him, and I couldn't hide my astonishment at the kindness in his voice. I wasn't used to benevolence. Only Kenny, Kyle, Butters, and Stan ever really showed me any compassion, I guess. So… maybe I didn't really recognize it correctly… yet, there wasn't a harshness or a bitterness in his words, like other people seemed to reserve for me – like he used to, before he got stoic. This was the first time in… in _years_, maybe, that he'd spoken to me so… I couldn't even come up with a decent adverb.

"…I'll take that as a 'no,' then," he mumbled, raising an eyebrow.

"_Ngh_," I replied weakly, my embarrassment more than obvious. "Sorry," I uttered at my feet, still tugging at my roots.

"Whatever," he dismissed, shrugging and rolling his eyes. Surprisingly enough, the strange benevolence in his tone didn't fade. "You're so…" he began, searching for the word and building the suspense for me; I started twitching again. "Passive," he decided at last.

A microscopic part of me wanted to laugh. The bigger part of me wanted to scream in terror. Passive?? That means people could walk all over me! "Oh my _god_," I whimpered through clenched teeth, realizing they already did, every time I fell down. "I'm a fucking DOORMAT!"

He chuckled, and I bit my lip hard.

"It's true," he agreed, resting his chin in his palm. "But," he continued more somberly, allowing himself a slight frown, "I guess that's mostly _my_ fault.

"No, it's not!" I protested automatically.

"_Stop that_," he pressed, now sounding annoyed. Even though I squeaked, I was alleviated that his attitude was returning to normal. "It really fuckin' _is_," he growled, glaring at me with… is that guilt?? "Treating you like dirt the way I did…" He paused, scanning my wide-eyed face before turning away. "I started this shit. _I'm_ the reason you get tortured."

I almost denied it once more, but decided against it when I saw the unfamiliar remorse in his preternaturally handsome face. My stupid eyes wouldn't look away, locked on his regretful expression as he looked sideways at me; my eyelid twitched in a disturbing manner, my leg bouncing rapidly. Chewing my lip, I scrambled over the nervous thoughts in my head, trying to find one that made sense, one that wouldn't condemn me any further as the paranoid freak I was, but everything seemed to go too fast, so all I said was an incomprehensible, "Vwesszeeeeeeeeeeeergh!"

Brow creasing, he blinked. "What," he said flatly, "was that?"

"ACK! I don't, _ngh_, know!" I blurted pathetically, throwing my arms up in the air dramatically. "Oh _god_, I'm SO SOR—"

I flinched when he jerked suddenly toward me, clapping a bright yellow glove over my mouth and scowling deeply. The blood rushed to my cheeks and fueled my panicked heart rate, as I stared in bewilderment at his grimace, frozen.

"Seriously," he lowed, inches from my nose with his own, "You have _got_ to quit blaming yourself and taking fault for fucking _everything_." He narrowed his azure gaze, moving closer and pressing my head back a little further; I trembled even more potently at his proximity, my lips tingling in a numb sort of way and my crotch defying my every urgent command. "Why do you _do_–" He stopped, blinking rapidly as something occurred to him. His hand fell away, and I gasped for air I hadn't known I needed, my pulse gradually returning to its regular, albeit quick tempo. But my stupid erection wouldn't soften! It wasn't a complete hard-on yet (I'm not _that_ pathetic), but it wasn't subtle, if he ever caught glimpse. I fidgeted.

"Sorry," he muttered, ironically enough. I almost laughed.

"…_Ngh_, okay," I said simply, hoping my cheeks weren't on fire as I tried to reposition myself more comfortably. Then again, I was never really 'comfortable' in _any_ sense of the word – there were just _too many_ awful things that could happen, at _any given moment_! Come to think of it, how is anybody _ever_ comfortable??

As a senseless rant went off in my head, Craig rested his raven head on the windowpane, sighing. I wasn't aware of it, as I squirmed in place and wrinkled the edge of my shirt, but he was staring at my hands. Just… watching them. What he said next seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Spazmoid—"

"GAH!"

"What were you thinking?"

My gaze shifted unsurely from my shoes to Craig's heart-stopping face. "What?" I managed to say without adding a stupid mannerism. "I think – I was – I…" I tried.

Then it overflowed.

"When we were in, _ngh_, grade school and we – ACK – fought, but nobody, _ngh_, won, but you got in, _ngh_, trouble afterward at the hospital, oh _god_, cuz we fought again, I thought it was _my_ fault, and oh, SWEET JESUS, I tried to say sorry, but the nurses were yelling, and you wouldn't, _ngh,_ listen, and then you – GAH! – started, _ngh_, bullying me, and I thought it was cuz I got you in trouble, and then I, _ngh_, found out you also just, _urk_…" I came to a halt when I saw the look on his face; I could only stare shamefully at the floor of the bus as I murmured my last thought. "…You also just hated me," I finished almost inaudibly, twitching. Was that really what I was just thinking about??

He watched me silently, with an unidentifiable expression. Squeaking, I cringed, and for some reason my cut palms stung.

"I meant… I meant what you were thinking about when you hurt your hands," he rephrased quietly, his voice weighed down with conflicted, undisclosed emotions. "Unless, that was it…?"

OH JESUS HE KNOWS I WAS THINKING ABOUT HIM! For _sure_ now!

"_Hnnnnghh_," I strained, yanking at my hair again, "Too much pressuuuuuuuure—"

"Tweek."

"AUGH!"

For a split second – no, less – he appeared sad. His face became steely again, but some of the regret remained, if you'll believe it. "Look, I'm sorry."

Breath hitching, I felt my eyelid twitch as I gawked dumbly. "W-What?" I barely whispered, the words sounding foreign on his tongue.

Frustrated, he frowned. "I'm _sorry_, okay? I'm sorry for all the shit I've done to you, the way I acted and the crap I pulled."

"_Ngh_, C-Craig," I stammered pitifully, wishing not for the first time that I could say his name without tripping over it like the idiot I was. "I…" I started, before realizing I had no idea what I would've said.

"Goddammit," he muttered hotly through his teeth, facing the scenery outside once more. "I'm one _hell_ of a bastard," he added under his breath after I stifled a shriek. "…And I'm sorry." He closed his eyes, seeming tired. "Really."

I managed to turn away, however unwilling I was to let him leave my sight. Gnawing my bottom lip to stop a stupid, pathetic noise from escaping, the blood pumping at an unbearable pace spiked into the apples of my cheeks. Here I was, listening to the apologies of somebody I _should_ never want to see again, even in passing. Somebody I should never forgive. And all I could do was stammer, fidget, and avoid eye contact like some lovesick moron…

Oh, _sweet_ Jesus!

Am I a lovesick moron??

"AUGH! I _can't_ be!"

"Can't be what?"

"SWEET Jesus!"

Craig blinked, like he does, and I realized I'd finally turned to look at him. The lump in my throat refused to be swallowed – in fact, it bloody well _set up camp_. The raven-haired beauty before me cocked a brow, piercing and icy eyes boring into my ugly green ones, void of opinion.

"You keep doing that." His expression was blank as usual once more, and he seemed more himself than he had in the last five minutes. "It doesn't help the harassment, y'know," he informed me flatly.

"_Hrk_," I choked, adding another odd sound to my vocabulary, "I… I know." Tugging at a fistful of my hair, I started bouncing my leg to help reduce my ridiculous shaking. "But, _ngh_, I can't help it, man!" Crap, I'm stressing myself out! "GAH!"

"Hm," he hummed neutrally. "'S our stop," he added in his low tone, half-standing, as that's all the limited space had to offer.

"AUGH!" I yelped, leaping into the aisle and tripping on my shoelace and greeting the floor with my nose; someone caught my shirt collar just before I could make-out with dust and melted snow. I sort-of hung at an angle for a moment, my heartbeat at a standstill, a shriek of anticipatory pain lodged in my trachea, unable to be called forth any further. But suddenly my rescuer pulled back enough to get me properly on my feet, and I made a tiny squeak as the soles of my loud green All-Stars planted themselves on more sturdy surfaces than on top of one another.

"Hopeless." Ruffling my hair and making me flinch as I cried out at the contact, he nudged me forward. "'S go, Spazmoid."

Rushing as quickly as I could without falling (again), I bolted down that bus aisle under the amused and confused stares of unsure classmates. Before I could cause any more trouble for the boy who haunted my every thought (waking or otherwise), my legs carried my weak, scrawny frame away, in the direction of Harbucks, where I was supposed to take the four-to-eight o'clock shift. As I swiftly rounded the corner, I thought I saw Craig flip off the bus as it drove off.

_Oh my god, oh god, oh sweet JESUS!_ My head screamed at me as I threw open the coffee café's swinging glass door, _He touched me! He freakin' __touched__ me! _Twice_! Not whacked, not punched, but __touched__! Holy mother of tap-dancing _Christ_, what'll I DO?!_

"Tweek?"

"OH JESUS!"

My father tilted his head numbly. "What's the matter, son?"

"Nothing, _ngh_, dad," I hastily replied, hanging my head to evade both eye contact and a metaphor-ridden mini-tangent, something the man was still prone to, even after selling out our old café to Harbucks. Skirting around him, I headed for the back room to grab an apron, wash my hands, and get myself a quick cup of hazelnut mocha with an extra shot of espresso. Mom once said I shouldn't have so much espresso, cuz of the caffeine, but she of all people should know that espresso isn't actually any more caffeinated than regular coffee. It depends on how long the beans are roasted, not how long the drink is brewed. Not that my hazelnut mocha with espresso wasn't a dark brew to begin with.

…OH GOD, am I _suicidal_ or something?? I can't overdose on caffeine, CAN I?? Oh man, why hadn't this occurred to me _earlier_?!

"Excuse me…"

"AHH WELCOME TO HARBUCKS MAY I HELP YOU!" I screamed.

Chef briefly looked concerned. "Uh, yes. Could I have a…"

It may surprise you to hear this, but I can have a two-track mind sometimes, mostly when coffee is one of the topics involved, so when he began ordering a complicated, chocolaty thing, I was able to take it down, work the register, and prepare the intoxicating beverage while my thoughts strayed elsewhere. Chef didn't seem to mind my occasional, "GAH!"

Craig. Oh god, _Craig_. He… he _tousled_ my hair and _touched_ my mouth! What is that supposed to mean, exactly? Was it code for, "This means I'm not afraid to start physically abusing you again," or just a friendly (FRIENDLY?!), "You're so helpless?" He _had_ told me that a few times, maybe it was that. Or maybe it didn't mean _anything_ and I'm trying to read into a silly little gesture _way_ too much, because I'm a stupid, paranoid little FREAK!

"_Ngh_, here's your dark-chocolate caramel macchiato with a shot of freak – OH GOD, I mean – _French_ roast espresso, _ngh_, Chef," I mumble dismally, holding it out to him without daring to meet his warm gaze, my cheeks on fire.

"Thank you, children!" he said kindly, taking it and bustling away.

As my horrible brain conjured up government conspiracies for the reason he referred to even _one_ kid as the plural 'children' (maybe it was a trigger phrase, and when said enough times, one of us would 'wake-up' and do the CIA's bidding OH MY GOD!), someone set off the little bell above the door. I jumped at the small sound, and looked over the see Butters smiling and waving at me.

"Hiya, Tweek!" he chirped, coming over to the order counter where my shivery self dutifully stood. "Well, I'd sure like a vanilla fra-whatchamacallit." He set down a five-dollar bill and smiled again.

"Hi, _ngh_, Butters," I mutter tensely, uncomfortable with his blatant cheerfulness. People aren't lively around me, as you've seen. "Is that all?" I manage to add without an odd shriek or overwrought noise.

"Well, I dunno. You want anything, Kenny?" Butters said, looking to his right.

"OH DEAR GOD!" I screech, throwing myself backwards at the sight of the orange-clad blonde eying pastries in the display case at my left. Of course, I hit my hip pretty hard, but I stifled a whimper at the pain. "When did _you_ get here, _ngh_, Kenny??" I panted, as if out of breath.

He grinned charmingly. "Been here the whole time, sweet cheeks," he chuckled bemusedly. "Could I get a muffin, Butters?" That way I can take some home for my sister," he directed toward his companion, pointing at the massive poppy seed muffin under the scones.

"Sure, Kenny," the barrette decorated boy agreed, turning to look at me and add a dollar to the money he'd already handed me. Hopefully he didn't notice my squeal. "And one poppy seed muffin, please." He looked down at my gauze-wrapped hands shortly, brow furrowed, but Kenny flashed him a warning glance.

"_Urk_, okay," I said tightly, desperate to get as far away from the hooded teenager eying me meaningfully as I could. The thing about working in a café was that preparing pricey beverages (_especially_ the needlessly elaborate ones) was soothing. It actually calmed me down a tiny bit, and I felt a little more human by the time I had to pull the muffin out. But my mind still mocked me with overwhelming worries, the primary of which was: _Kenny wants to talk to me, oh god!_

"One vanilla frappaccino and – GAH! – poppy seed muffin."

"Well, thanks, Tweek!" Butters handed the muffin to Kenny.

Swiping it hungrily, he tore into it immediately, ignoring my shocked cry. "Thank you!" he said gratefully, through a mouthful of icing-free cupcake. Butters giggled, sadly, if that's possible. "This'll tide us over for the rest of the day – thanks, dude. _Thank you_!" The poverty-stricken blonde wrapped him in a tight hug.

As Butters slowly put his own hands on Kenny's back, I saw true remorse etched into his adorable features. Everybody knew the kid wore his heart on his sleeve (like I, of all people, could scoff at that), and anyone could see he wished his friend's stomach wasn't constantly empty. I wondered if Kenny saw it, though, the compassion his smaller friend felt for him. Even I, the twitchy freak, could see the sweet boy had it bad for Mr. Advice here. How ironic it would be if he didn't have a clue.

"Tweek? Hey, are you okay?" came an uneasy voice.

"Hnnnnngh," I choked, snapping back to reality. Both blondes were watching me uncertainly. "ACK! I'm sor—" I stopped short, remembering Craig's stern reprimanding for how I apologized too frequently. "I… I'm fine," I rephrased awkwardly.

"Well, thanks, Tweek!" Butters said as they headed for the door, but Kenny hung back, confirming my earlier fear.

"I'll catch up," he called to the smaller boy, "gotta tell Tweek here something." He smiled, and Butters started off before he looked sideways at me. "Jesus, relax. I'm not gonna interrogate ya or nothin'," he reassured me. "You don't hafta look so terrified of me," he continued, a hint of rejection in his confidence. "Thought I must admit, you definitely look bangable," he muttered huskily.

"SWEET JESUS," I squealed, burning brightly and pressing back up against the counter.

Shrugging, he leaned casually on the register. "'S true," he said wearily, "but that's not what I'm here to say."

A whimper escaped my raw lips. "Then what, _ngh, _are you here to say?" I question.

He met my gaze, unwavering sapphire penetrating my quivering green. "Good luck," he said quietly, "You're on the right track, kid."

"What about you?" I threw out stupidly, digging myself into a hole because my head was too slow to catch up with my mouth, like usual.

"Huh?"

"_Ngh_," I say, a non-response again. "I didn't – OH GOD – I didn't mean – forget it," I stumble, tugging imaginary wrinkles out of my immaculately ironed apron.

Narrowing his gaze dubiously, he let me off… for now (OH SWEET JESUS). "Bye, Tweeky," he sang as he exited, using a nickname I hadn't heard in years. Not since… since first grade had I heard that, and it wasn't even _him_ that had used it. I doubt he knew it'd been used before, it's not exactly… original, as awful as that sounds.

I didn't return the goodbye, mostly cuz I was still stuck on 'Tweeky.' Maybe I'm being overly hopeful when I let myself wish he'd used it affectionately. Some part of me wished he'd use it more often – some part of me said it meant he liked me. I wasn't a total freak in his eyes. Though surely it was an impossible dream, maybe I was on my way to making… a friend?

Scoffing at myself, I allowed a thousand other negative, _realistic_ possibilities bombard my thoughts, pulling out a rag to clean up tables that hadn't been visited in hours. The café was empty, thankfully, when I realized I'd let tears roll down my cheek.

Sniffling, I rubbed at my eyes with a sleeve over my fist, angry with myself, and maybe just a little with Kenny and Butters, too, for making me hope for something I couldn't have.

* * *

You'd think, maybe in my dreams, I could be strong: I could be a superhero, I could fly, wrestle with tigers, vanquish evil, or even just stand still for more than ten seconds. Right?

Wrong.

I can't do any of that. Not even in my dreams. I'm never a superhero. I can't fly, or even hover. If I wrestled a tiger, I'd get torn to bits. Vanquishing evil is out of the question when you're a coward at the level I am. Standing still is freaking _impossible_, no matter what. I can't be anything other than myself in my dreams, or worse.

That isn't to say I'm always having nightmares. Actually, most of the time, I don't even appear in my own dreams. But when I do manage to show up, I literally can't do shit.

It kind-of sucks.

Anyway, I was lowering my head onto my pillow, thinking about how I'd probably get stuck at some Wal-Mart to be thrown around like a basketball by an eight-year-old Eric Cartman again, when my consciousness sliped out from under me and I began to fade.

Craig is standing next to me, and we're in the cafeteria line at… Hell's Pass Hospital? That's… weird. I haven't been to the hospital since – since third grade. Every other injury I've sustained since then I've treated myself, or gotten treated for at the nurse's office at school. I've actually gotten pretty good at first-aid, truthfully.

"Hello children!" Chef greets when it was our turn, and the raven musses my already chaotic hair. I shriek. "What'll you have today?"

I glance down at the options, and leap backward at the trays of miniature nine-year-old Kennys – dead, naturally – and something that resembles crap. Literally.

Craig flips off Chef as he begins serenading about making love to a dozen white women, and suddenly we're out by Stark's Pond. The moon is hanging high, huge and white in the navy sky, and Craig is walking with me to a bench. Kyle and Stan sit opposite, making out, and the boy in the blue hat shows them his favorite finger while I blush a ridiculous shade of magenta. Kenny – alive and well this time – is running from some random guy with a chainsaw, and Butters is sitting on the sidelines with Jimmy, Token, Clyde, and Thomas, who cheer him on accordingly. Wendy and Bebe are making something out of papier-mâché, but I can't make out what it is yet.

We shift again, and this time Craig is ordering something from me at Harbucks. No one else is present. I'm trembling as he decides.

"What's good?" he asks at last.

"GAH! Um… I…" I try, tempted to yank on my hair, but that would be against health code, and I'd have to wash my hands straight afterward. "I like the hazelnut mocha. With a shot of espresso," I mumble shyly, aware it sounds pretty fruity.

"Hm." He reaches over and ruffles my hair. "One of those, then," he says in his amazing, dark voice.

"_Meep_," I squeak unintentionally, embarrassed. "Okay."

So I make him one.

"One hazelnut mocha, shot of espresso." Hey, I didn't screw—"_Ngh_." Fuck. Not even in my dreams.

"Thanks," he says in barely a whisper, taking a small sip. I wait nervously for him to flip me off and throw it in my face. After all, not even in my dr—

"'S good," he mumbles, tousling my hair again.

I smile.

I haven't smiled in a long time.

I might even have smiled into my pillow, feeling… warm.

* * *

**P.S. A/N**: Christ Almighty. And all that. Tweek gets inconsistent, to me. But I like having the bus scene. It's relevant, I promise. And hey – I might actually have plot developing soon. =D

Kenny and Butters. I don't know what y'all think, but honestly… they're kind-of a crack pairing. =_=' I like it, don't get me wrong, but truthfully, ButtersxCartman is at least more logical. But I hate Cartman. With a fiery passion. And so he doesn't get with ANYBODY in my fics. Suck mine, Cartman, you fat asshole. –flips off Cartman- =]

Oh, look. I forgot what I wanted to say AGAIN. =_=* When I edit this chapter, I'll be sure to put it in, cuz I highly doubt I won't come across it when I do.

THANKS FOR READING, I LURVE YOU ALL.


	6. Freaky Dreams

**A/N**: Okay, so I finally got around to typing this up. I just had WAY too much homework this week to do it til now. I don't like it very much, but hopefully it doesn't fail too hard. =_=' Anyhow, hope no one saw this first bit coming. Or maybe I should've made it more evident…? TOO LATE. D=

Enjoy. Or at least try? TT_TT

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_Craig's P.O.V._

Freaky Dreams

I hate my house.

Okay, that's a lie, I don't hate my _house_.

I hate my home. My family.

My dad hates me. He hates everything about me. He told me himself. He said, "Craig, you shouldn't be here. You were never supposed to be here. If it wouldn't destroy your mother, I'd get rid of you. Remember that." He's kind-of a strange, psychotic bastard. He'd do anything for my mom, anything for my little sister, but me? He can't stand the sight of me. I don't know why – at least, that's what I tell myself. Truthfully, I know it's because I wasn't meant to be born. I was the accident child. I would've been aborted, but my mom insisted on having me, and he couldn't say no to her. But even so, that doesn't stop him from glaring at me every time he looks at me, doesn't stop him from punching me in the gut whenever I pass by and mom isn't looking, doesn't stop him from referring to me as, "little fucker," each time I come up in a conversation. He used to scare me, but now I can just walk past without incident – on my part, at least. I used to fight back, too, but he'd always beat me to a pulp, so eventually I just started avoiding him as best I could. I hardly see him, since I don't eat dinner with my family anymore, and we leave each other well enough alone. Mostly.

Ruby, my little sister, is fourteen now. She _defines_ PMS, 24/7. She's always yelling about something, taking everything too seriously, throwing shit at me. There's always some trivial thing she has to bitch about, usually at me, and her favorite thing is to chuck something at me while she's at it. The worst part is, when I bother retorting, even without any real heat, she'll either explode in a barrage of swearing and fists, or burst into sob-story tears and then run to dad. Either way, I'll somehow end up in trouble, and sent to my room, the one place in this three-story building I go to on a regular basis. I've my laptop, bed, and iHome in there, and that's really all I need to entertain myself.

My mother is the only person in the house that doesn't loathe my very being. I mentioned she was the one that wanted to have me, right? Well, it's true. The only thing keeping me from leaving home early is her. I wish I could explain, but it's actually ridiculously complicated – our relationship, I mean – as odd as that seems.

When I walked in through the front door, flipping Clyde off as he continued on, I tried not to make any noise, in a vain attempt to surpass Ruby's terminal bad mood. I swear to god, that chick is worse than I ever was, and that's saying something.

"What're you doing?" a tensed voice challenged above me.

Glancing at the balcony and spying my glaring younger sibling, I bent down to untie my Converse, shrugging. Furious footsteps stomp dramatically down the stairs, and I rolled my eyes as I heaved a sigh. Here we go again.

"You just think you're _so __cool_!" she hissed, planting her fluffy purple socks in front of my plain white ones. I knew her hands were on her hips without having to look. "Well, I've got some news for _you_, hot shot – YOU'RE NOT!"

Wow. She's so inventive.

"This is getting old fast, Rube," I mumbled irately. Couldn't she throw a fit for someone else? There's too much shit on my mind right now to deal with this, and said shit is a lot higher on my priority list than her goddamned hormone levels.

"Don't call me _Rube_!" she screamed, reaching down and picking up dad's left loafer. But I was too quick.

Surprising even myself, I displayed a pretty wicked set of ninja skills as I both leapt out of my last shoe and ducked under the close-range missile, edging expertly past her and smirked as she came up after me. It was satisfying, naturally, to slam my bedroom door on her face.

"GODDAMMIT, CRAIG!" she cursed, pounding on the wood, "GET OUT HERE!"

I don't even bother replying, just falling back onto my bed and closing my eyes tiredly as her angry yelling dissolves into white noise… or she could've just given up. Y'know. Whichever. Throwing an arm over my face, I couldn't seem to get rid of the image of Spazmoid tugging at his messy, golden hair with bandaged hands, biting his lip and fretting over some worry in his overly paranoid head. That idiot and his coffee. Was he really so addicted to it that it caused his crack junkie behavior? Not that there was any doubt about it. Caffeine is great for functioning in the morning, but it wouldn't surprise me to hear the kid drank his coffee late into the night. Didn't he once say he 'can't sleep, ever!' or something? And that was in _third grade_.

Jesus. For the first time, I could willingly acknowledge the fact that I felt sorry for him. What have I been _doing_ to that sad nut job? I remembered fighting him, eight years ago – I'd dismissed it after he mentioned it on the bus, but now that I was alone in my room, there was nothing to distract from the memory. So it replayed in my head.

In hospital, when Stan, Cartman, and Kyle admitted they'd set us up, and then said my mom punched _his_ mom in the hooters, he _launched_ himself at me. I think he did it in panic more than fury, I just couldn't have known that. I wouldn't have understood. All that mattered was that he was trying to fight again. So I didn't question it, just hit back. He looked absolutely terrified the whole time, and eventually nurses and a doctor came in and broke us up. They put Spazmoid back into a bed, hooking him up to an IV, much to his outright dismay, while they instantly started lecturing me about proper hospital conduct. The memory starts getting fuzzy at this point, but I do distinctly remember the pained expression the jittery blonde wore as he watched me pleadingly, a nurse covering his nose and mouth with a gas-form drug; his eyelids fluttered shut, and I stared at his sleeping, motionless body, more interested in the rare occurrence than what Dr. Genericface had to say.

On the bus, he'd said something about trying to apologize, but that I wouldn't listen. Focusing on the memory once more, I tried to pick out the moment in time I may have missed, and I saw his mouth covered with that blue plastic drug mask, and his chapped lips moved underneath it. I couldn't be sure, of course, since memories like to trick you and fuck themselves up, but now I just _knew_… that was when he tried to say sorry for getting me in trouble.

They didn't really punish me, in all honesty, but if there's one thing that I hate unequivocally, it's being talked at by strangers. So when he woke up that evening, I couldn't look at him without getting annoyed. I have no idea when those irritated feelings intensified into hate, but I do know when I started bullying him – right after we were released from Hell's Pass. Didn't waste any time, did I?

And he never fought back after that. Honestly, I _expected_ him to, but I told myself it was because I'd done him over so good that time, he didn't _dare_ defend himself. I was sort-of right: He didn't _dare_ defend himself, but it was because he thought… _thinks_ he deserves it.

Shit, man. I'm a genuinely bad person, aren't I?

"Fuck," I muttered tightly, turning on my stomach and pointlessly pounding into my mattress, pretending every hit I issued the inanimate object was a punch I could truly land on myself. Sitting back on my knees, I glared coldly at my big hands. How many times did I hit that poor guy? How many times did I insult him _to his face?_ How many times, in the past eight mother-fucking years of _bloody hell_ for him was I the bearer of pain?

"FUCK!" I declared, the word catching in my throat. "F…" I almost began, but gave up, another image of the shaky, scrawny blonde boy with his hands rubbing at a semi-self-inflicted wound. Was it just me, or did he often look on the brink of tears? And come to think of it, doesn't he always have those tantalizingly large emerald eyes downcast, like he was too afraid of seeing people's… mocking… faces?

"_Fuck_," I choked weakly, resting my screwed up head at the foot of my bed, and overwhelming wave of tiredness threatening to drown me in sleep. I let it wash over me.

-

A chorus of mocking laughter echoes in the hall as the small, jumpy blonde whimpers softly, on all fours as a result of my ankle conveniently knocking his feet out from under him only moments before. I myself chuckle darkly, smirking triumphantly, proud of my lame handiwork. Funny thing (_weird_ funny, not ha-ha funny) was that I didn't notice myself – five years older – watching from a safe distance.

Shit – another recollection dream. I get them every now and then (a lot), and it's freaky as sin; every single time, I'm watching it all replay while I'm _standing in the background_. This is freaky because I'm literally getting a different perspective of my own goddamn memories, which shouldn't be _possible_. Further proof that your memories will screw themselves up just to screw with _you_.

Squeaking and twitching severely, the Spazmoid blushes as he tries to push himself up; he cries out as my shoe stomps down on the edge of his sleeve, locking his arm – and therefore _him_ – to the floor. His messy-haired head snaps up to gape at me in sheer terror.

"Where do you think _you're_ going, Spazmoid?" I challenge nastily, sneering with some undeserved superiority. He looks down at my Vans, seeming temporarily entranced by the checkered pattern. Maddened at his lack of attention to my taunting, I scowl and bend down. My face is right in front of his before he notices me. "Boo," I say shortly.

"AUGH!" he screeches, jerking back automatically; being still trapped under my weight, he didn't get very far. In fact, he pretty much just fell over, twisting his wrist oddly and yelping in shock at the pain.

Raising an eyebrow as I lift my foot, I mutter, "Freak."

"_Ngh_," he… says? Why do you refer to his weird little noises as, anyway?

I rise to my feet and motion for Token and Clyde to follow. While my twelve-year-old self leaves the twelve-year-old Tweek Tweak to shiver and rub at his wrist on the dirty floor, my current, seventeen-year-old self is able to hang back for a few seconds. (FREAKY.) I couldn't take my eyes off his rejected expression.

Something rippled, and suddenly it's two-and-a-half years later, summer of freshman year. Stan's group and mine are hanging out at Shakey's, playing games and laughing like fourteen-year-olds are meant to. Spazmoid comes in, glancing about shiftily, obviously looking for something. Cartman elbows me, and I turn, ready to give him grief for touching me, when I spot the little twerp questioning an employee. Smirking evilly, I sneak up behind him, much to the stifled amusement of most of my comrades, and get close enough to literally breathe down his neck. I'm so close, his trembling sends out tiny, tangible vibrations that tickle my skin.

"…I'll see what I can do," the guy behind the counter replies unsurely, looking at me wearily before going off to do whatever he was doing for the Spazmoid.

"_Urk_! Thanks," Tweek fumbles. "I'll, _ngh_, wait here, I guess…" The guy disappears, and I wait patiently, breathing deeper to make my presence more frightening. Within a few seconds, the blonde stiffens as much as a juggernaut trembler like him can, and he lets out a strangled, "GAH!" Clearly trying to control himself, he gulps and stammers, "C-Craig…? Is that you—"

"RAHH!" I roar, trying to sound monstrous as I push him forward with a cruel force.

"SWEET JESUS!" he wails as he falls, flailing uselessly. He practically slices himself in half slamming his mid-section into the edgy counter in front of him; a strange, "_Hck-grk_," noise flies out from between his lips, and he collapses onto the ground. Curling, he wraps his thin arms around his stomach, face contorted in pain. You could tell he was making a Herculean effort not to cry, not to make a sound. People laugh, and he clamps down on his bottom lip.

I remember being unsure of what to think, as he shook with a combination of too much caffeine and hurt of some unfathomable level for me. I also remember that after that, my laughter started dying, my face grew expressionless, and I let my heat affect my visage less and less.

As I stare at the tortured, tiny blonde bearing the weight of everyone's mockery, I want to seize my younger self's shoulders, shake him violently, and demand, "STOP IT! CAN'T YOU SEE YOU'RE _DESTROYING_ HIM?!"

I am such a hypocrite. What's wrong with me?

The scene dissolves, until only a cold, white backdrop is all that is left. Complete silence engulfs me, and breath I didn't need in a dream flees my lungs. Suddenly I'm suspended, my limbs floating limply around me, my whole body weightless. This has never happened to me before, even in sleep, and for the first time in a long time, I'm scared.

"Put – put me down!" I stammer at no one. "PUT ME DOWN!"

And then I'm at Harbucks. How, I don't know. How I knew it was even Harbucks, I _especially_ don't know, considering I've never actually been there. But then I see him, and I can't deny.

"Welcome, _ngh_, to Harbucks, may I take your – GAH! – order?"

Without getting distracted by my own thoughts, I look up at the menu above his chaotic head, debating.

"What's good?" I finally just ask. Coffee isn't my forte, so I'm pretty sure I won't know the difference between a latte and a cappuccino.

"GAH! Um… I…" he begins, fidgeting in place. "I like the, _ngh_, the hazelnut mocha. With a shot of espresso," he mumbles shyly.

"Hm." For some bizarre reason, I feel the pressing need to reach over and tousle his messy golden locks; I find myself doing it. "One of those, then," I say.

"_Meep_," he squeaked in a strangely adorable way. "Okay." He turns.

Watching him make coffee is like watching a child prodigy tackle a one thousand-piece, blank puzzle in less than five minutes. He's completely, totally dedicated, his full concentration focused on this one task. And frankly… he has _talent_ for it. The twitchy kid has _talent_ for making overly elaborate, caffeinated beverages. The awe on my face disappears instinctively when he turns back to me, holding it out and casting his emerald gaze downward.

"One hazelnut mocha, with a shot of espresso. _Ngh_."

"Thanks," I hardly even whisper. Putting it to my mouth, I allow a small sip. The flavor is enticing, and I act on the weird urge to ruffle his hair again.

He smiles. My heart effectively melts.

-

"Morning, _ngh_, C-Craig. _Hgk_, how are you?"

I mildly replied, "'M fine, you?"

"ACK!" he yelped, undoubtedly surprised (yet again) at my willingness to have civilized conversation, his thermos nearly flying out of his grip. I was afraid he'd freak out about too much pressure or something, but he didn't. "I'm – GAH! – I'm," he tried, trembling and staring at the coffee in his injured, likely freezing hands. The vibrant lime contrasted the pink of his bare fingers, and as I gazed at his gauze-wrapped palms, an increasingly familiar spike of guilt invaded my chest cavity.

Son of a bitch, this really was going to be _hard._

"_Ngh_, I'm… okay," he eventually answered, self-consciously shifting what little weight he had and blushing brightly. Avoiding my eyes, he drank from his canister of crack, and last night's dream caused me to speak up.

I probably should've left it alone, but for reasons unknown, I felt compelled to ask.

"What're you drinking?" I questioned slowly.

"…Coffee??" he told me hesitantly, like he couldn't tell if I was joking or not – after all, what _else_ would it be?

"Hazelnut mocha with a shot of espresso?" I dared to inquire, working on a baseless suspicion. Why was I asking this again?

Whirling to face me with widened, horrified eyes, he shrieked, actually startling me. "H-how did you, _ngh_, know??" he squeaked, clearly frightened for his safety. "Oh god, are you stalking, _urk_, my DREAMS?!"

I raised an eyebrow at this development. His dreams? Why not just accuse me of _general_ stalking?

"SWEET Jesus, _please_ don't kill me, man!" he screeched, stepping back and protectively hugging his coffee to his chest, like he thought I'd steal it before I slit his throat or something. "I'm sorry, _ngh_, C-Craig!"

A flare of irritancy made me flip him off. "Quit. Apologizing," I growled, glaring the littlest bit. "I'm not gonna kill you," I added more gently, reminding myself that it was _my_ fault he said sorry all the time. "I just… had a weird dream. It was just a coincidence, all right?" How awkward is this? Really awkward. "Don't have a panic attack."

"GAH!"

It was like telling a baby not to cry.

"_Hrgck_, were you at Harbucks??" he stage whispered, after calming himself a little.

_No, I was on the __moon_, I was sorely tempted to bite, but instead, I blinked. Something was going on here – something involving someone who could fuck with our heads. But for whatever reason, no names would come to mind. "Yeah," I murmured, watching him sideways. "Yeah, I was. In my dream."

He twitched violently, gaze unsteady as he met mine. "I had—"

"The same dream," I said for him, sighing with frustration. My brain raced through faces, trying to pin down every possible culprit. I must've looked positively livid, because Tweek practically leapt into the road, shrieking.

"I didn't, _ngh_, mean to!" he assured me, staggering backward into the middle of the street.

Dread gripped at my throat, images flashing through my mind of his small body broken on the asphalt, coffee mixed with blood painted across his face, the car that hit him speeding away in fear of the responsibility for his death.

"Get back here!" I demanded, stepping forward a few paces and grabbing his sleeve, earning a frightened yelp. "Don't be stupid," I muttered by way of explanation, dragging his tiny frame back onto the sidewalk. "The dream was a coincidence," I repeated, "so chill out."

"_Ngh_, okay, C-Craig," he stuttered, cheeks burning. You could tell he'd be worried about it all day.

Ha. _I'm_ one to talk.

The bus pulled into view, and when it stopped for us, I mindlessly urged the Spazmoid forward. Once I stepped on board, unconsciously following the nervous kid, a hush fell over the passengers. He froze in panic, whimpering at the attention – backing up, he bumped into me. He cried out as he tried to turn around, but there was simply no space to do so in the narrow aisle.

He began to fall.

Naturally, he scrambled for some stability, fingers groping for the nearest sturdy object: Me.

I rarely wear a shocked expression, as I'm sure you know, so the look on my face was undeniably priceless. I basically fell on top of him, knocking the wind out of us and groaning uncomfortably. A couple giggles were hushed by concerned observers, but it wasn't until I heard Kenny's wolf whistle that I realized what a compromising position we were in, and my face was as red as his. Essentially, I lay on his body like I was ready to… well, frankly… sex him up.

And he was so _small_, just a thin little thing, probably being crushed under my 130 pounds. I could feel his ribs under our layers of warmth, and wondered if maybe I broke a few. It wouldn't surprise me in the least to hear he was that fragile, and I had another bizarre moment of fear. What if I _did_ hurt him some how?

Fuck.

"_Ngh_, C-Craig?" he said quietly, wriggling awkwardly under me. "Um—"

"Are you okay?" I interrupted, lifting my torso off of him by placing my hands on either side of his messy golden head.

Burning ever brighter, he finally tore his huge emerald eyes away, eyelid twitching. His trembling against me felt oddly… right? No, that's not it…

"We should, _urk_, get up," he squeaked. "People, _ngh,_ are staring! Oh _Jesus_, they're watching us! GAH! This is _way_ too much _pressure!_"

My esophagus clenched and my heart throbbed. Something in me swelled, in more than one location – I all but threw myself back, freeing him of the burden of my mass and mentally slapping myself.

Why the _hell_ am I HALF-HARD?!

"Sonuvabitch," I muttered under my breath, glaring at nothing in particular. Fuck, how am I supposed to hide this?? But because I had to deal with my little 'problem,' I saw Spazmoid struggling to get up due to the motion of the bus, and I forgot my stupid physical nuisance. "Here," I said, supporting myself on the back of somebody's seat, learning forward and offering a hand up.

Yelping, he tentatively took it, careful not to meet my eyes as he turned and stumbled onward, looking for somewhere to sit, cringing at all the accusing stares. Speaking of which, they were _really_ starting to piss me off, so I made sure to give them a double-handed dose of my favorite finger as I passed.

After thoroughly and silently announcing 'fuck you' to everybody, I wearily waited for the Spazmoid to sit down. But once again, he couldn't – the only spots available were the far back ones… _my_ usual seat. Of course. It was only fitting. I couldn't say I minded much, though – after all, didn't I want to know more about the coffee fiend? Why turn down another opportunity?

"Dude, just sit with me," I muttered, nudging him into the window side of the seat; he squeaked and immediately obeyed, twisting his hands around his thermos, his leg beginning to bounce up and down. Setting my bag on the dusty floor, I slouched lazily, spreading my legs leisurely out before me, taking up any space I could. "I'm not gonna hurt you," I said lowly, when his painfully obvious tension was getting to be too much. "Not anymore, all right? I promise I won't," I added firmly. While I may not be the most honest person alive, I never went back on my word. You could at least count on me for that.

Making one of his drawn out, stressed sounds, he gripped at his hair with one hand, twitching. "_Ngh_, okay," he managed after a moment. Unscrewing the first lid of his thermos, he mumbled something about wishing he could say the same for himself; he probably thought I couldn't hear him, but I did. The sadness and cynicism threw me off, and I had to stop myself from asking him to repeat what he'd said.

"…What's your seventh period?" I questioned in what I assumed was a conversational tone. Small talk wasn't really my thing – casual exchanges and I didn't really get along. If you want the truth, we butted heads, and it got me in a stranglehold more often than not. Anyway, point is: I wasn't good at chatting aimlessly. I just hoped that wasn't terribly evident.

"AUGH!" Finally he looked at me. And Christ, did he look confused. "I have choir seventh, _ngh_," he answered shyly, clearly baffled at my attention. "What – GAH! – do you have?" he asked cautiously in return.

"You sing?" I inquired stupidly. Cuz he totally didn't just tell me that, right? My eyes shut briefly as I groaned inwardly. "I didn't know," I stated as well, adding insult to injury.

"Um, yeah," he said quietly, green eyes drifting to his thermos as he took a swig of flavored caffeine. He flushed again, and that awful word 'cute' threatened to describe him in my thoughts. "I, _ngh_, do."

This was yet another bizarre concept to me. If he was constantly making random, paranoid outbursts, how could he possibly sing through an entire piece of music without royally fucking up?

_Wow_, that's critical of me. I mean, what the hell do _I_ know? For all I _do_ know, he's the best damned singer in the school! And now my curiosity began to pique – suddenly I wanted to hear his performing voice.

"When's your next concert?"

"GAH! My next, _ngh_, next concert??" he echoed. "_Urk_, not until next week." Suddenly his eyes widened. "Oh god! Is something happening on the twenty-third, _ngh_, that might – SWEET JESUS, is somebody gonna ruin our concert?!"

"I didn't say—"

"Oh Christ, that's _way_ too much pressure!"

Sighing, I restrained myself from acting on that impulse to mess up his already chaotic hair. _He_ was acting normally, at least – unlike someone I could name. "Relax, Spazmoid," I instructed as nicely as humanly possible. "No one's out the wreck your concert."

"_Hnnngh_."

"At least, not that I know of." Dammit. I couldn't resist.

"OH MY GOD!"

"Kidding. I'm kidding," I hastily assured the quivering caffeine-addict as he pulled roughly at his unruly locks. Somehow, he snagged his gauze on an unbuttoned button of his coat, and it came loose; he didn't notice. "Uh, Spazmoid…?" Hadn't he changed it since yesterday? The wrapping was looking grungy, and I had a feeling he'd infected his wounds. "Your gauze—"

"ACK! It's falling off!" he shrieked, catching sight of it and holding both arms out in front of him, eyes wide in terror. "Oh man, what'll I _do_?? _Ngh,_ I don't have any more!" Turning wildly in his seat, as if searching for it on the floor, he whimpered. "_Urk_, what if I get _sick_ cuz dirt got, _ngh_, in my hands?? OH GOD, I'll get AIDS!"

Again with the AIDS? Jesus Christ. "Dude, it doesn't work like that," I began explaining, rolling my eyes. "You might be infected," I went on, holding his shoulder down to still him, "but you don't have HIV, okay? Lemme see."

Taking a deep breath and chomping into his bottom lip, he nodded and presented his injuries to me, facing away himself.

The cuts weren't too deep, but they looked more painful than they had when I first cleaned them up yesterday. Carefully unwrapping the dirty cloth material, I held his hands in my own, silently marveling at their unexpected elegance. Running my thumb tenderly over the messy scabs, I flinched at a soft whimper. Why didn't he pull away? Scream?

Why does he trust me?

* * *

**A/N** again: SONUVBITCH I HATE THIS CHAPTER. Too angsty, too lame! ARGH. D= Sorry for the worst chapter yet. Hope it hasn't put anyone off. TT_TT


	7. Promises You Can't Keep

**A/N**: HOLY CRAP, IT'S AN UPDATE. Be proud of me. I typed this up in four hours. XD

Love y'all! Enjoy the semi-angst that I wasn't sure how to avoid! =D =_='

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

_Tweek's P.O.V._

Promises You Can't Keep

His fingers brushed lightly over my semi-healed wounds, and I whimpered at the sting it caused, shivering violently. _He's touching me, he's touching me, he's touching my disgusting wounds!_ I fretted in my head, my leg bouncing of its own accord. My skin buzzed with electricity, excited and terrified at the contact. If he was touching my gross cuts, wouldn't he get infected, too?? Oh my god, what if I gave him AIDS?! "_Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzeerrrrgh_," I strained oddly, the fear of getting him sick once again screwing up my speech. "_Ngh_, C-Craig!"

Glancing up at me with a serious expression, he hummed, distracted.

"_Ngh_, C-Craig, you shouldn't, _hrk_, shouldn't touch—"

"Does it hurt when I do?"

"AUGH! No," I quickly lied, wishing I could just keep my mouth shut for once. "But, _ngh_, you could get—GAH!—sick!"

"I'm not gonna get sick from inspecting a few little cuts," he said reasonably. I could think of a dozen disease cases where he was wrong, but bit down on my lip to keep from saying something stupid again. Looking me full on, he nearly made my heart stop. "Don't you get tired of it?" he asked quietly.

"OH JESUS – tired of what??" I dared to ask in return, afraid I'd have a heart attack if he looked at me any longer.

"Hurting?"

A flood of one thousand answers drowned my consciousness, and I was somehow able to resurface long enough to choke out a single syllable. "I…"

_I let myself hurt because of you; I get hurt no matter what, so why not make it good for someone else? For _you_, oh god, I let myself hurt for you! It entertained you! It – it kept you coming back for me! If my stupid clumsiness made you respond to me, even just a little… then I couldn't –_don't_ care. Of course, _of course_ it's awful. I don't like pain, but if my hurt had you nearby, how could I __not__ let it ride my back? And if you had to cause me hurt to stay close to my pathetic being, then why would I try to stop you? Why would I stop _myself_? I end up hurting myself all the time, even though I don't mean to, and when I do… you're there. You could be laughing, scowling, keeping me down, and it would give me a small, sick dose of happiness… Sweet Jesus, I'm so __fucked up__! But I can't tell you any of this, you can't know I'm as big a freak as everyone thinks I am. If you knew what I thought, you'd…_

"Whoa, hey." Craig's voice broke through my silent rant. "Are you—" He lowered his voice further, leaning slightly closer. "Are you _crying_?"

"_Ngh_," I squeaked, pulling my hands from his at last and shying away, my eyes spilling treacherous tears as I tried to breathe evenly. "I'm not, _ngh_, I'm not _hurting_," I protested, my voice more shaky than strained, which scared me a little bit. Reaching for my coffee, I began fidgeting. "I'm not…"

"Bullshit."

"AUGH!"

"Lookit me."

It was impossible to disobey; my head snapped in his direction before I could stop myself. His icy blue gaze locked me in place, and he pulled my sore hands out of my hair, where I'd unconsciously gripped them. His unnaturally handsome face was stern, his mouth curved downward just a little bit.

"It won't happen again."

"OH JESUS! _What_ won't??"

"I'm done screwing with you. I'm done hurting you. I'm not gonna let me, or anyone else mess with you anymore."

"What?" I breathed in my shaky voice, baffled to no end. What was he _saying_??

"From now on, your hurting days are over… I promise."

I almost laughed. It wasn't funny – I didn't even really understand what he was saying – but I was so utterly lost, laughter burst from my mouth for no logical reason. But _oh god_, he was making promises he can't keep – he couldn't stop _me_ from hurting myself, especially on accident. He couldn't stop me from tripping over things, or running into walls or people, or throwing myself backward, or cutting my palms with my fingernails, or accidentally jumping into oncoming traffic, or—

"Christ, don't _cry_," he said through clenched teeth, closing his eyes.

"GAH! I'm sorry!" I screeched, pressing against the bus window and wiping furiously at my face in a desperate attempt to stop my tears. Oh man, he can't stand the _sight_ of me! "_Hngh_," I groaned, choking back another wave of fear. "You can't, _ngh_, do that! _Ngh_, I hurt myself all the time! OH SWEET JESUS, am I a MASOCHIST?!"

Unaware of the heads turning, Craig grabbed my wrists, making me shriek and blush with one of those sick doses of happiness. "Calm _down,_ you're not a masochist." He didn't sound so sure, though. "And you hurt yourself _unintentionally_. You just gotta be more _careful_… would it kill you to cut back on the caffeine?"

"AUGH, NO!! I NEED MY COFFEE!"

Sighing, he released me, and I immediately dove for my thermos, unscrewing the cap and taking a long drink. "Tweek, you gotta rela—are you okay?"

I was choking on my liquid paradise, coughing violently and spluttering, _"What??"_

Putting a hand on my shoulder to steady me, he echoed, "What's what?"

"You—GAH!—called me 'Tweek!'" I noted, wheezing. Oh god, what if I coughed up _blood_?? AUGH, I don't _want_ tuberculosis!

He said nothing for a moment, frowning. "I did," he agreed quietly, searching my face for something.

"_Hrgck_," I strained, his piercing crystal blue gaze analyzing my green one. "AUGH, what're you _looking_ for??" I blurted stupidly, the pressure making me speak my thoughts. "_Ngh_, if you start saying my, _ngh_, my name, I'll start—GAH!—I'll EXPLODE! Oh Jesus!" I wailed pathetically, dropping my fortunately capped thermos and clawing at my hair. "Too much _pressuuuuuuure_!" I literally squealed, terrified of the joy I'd experience if he said my name again. But he couldn't _know_ that!

"Why would you explode? Don't you _wanna_ be called 'Tweek?'" he asked evenly, unfazed by my growing panic. "'Spazmoid' is _better?_" he added more skeptically, raising an ebony eyebrow. Bending forward briefly, he picked up my lime green thermos and handed it to me.

Inadvertently snatching it back, I took another dramatic swig the way people on TV do after hearing shocking news – only _my_ poison wasn't alcoholic. "No! I just, _ngh_, can't…" I began lamely, shivering potently, "_imagine_ you… saying it." It wasn't the whole truth, and the words wouldn't come out right, like I couldn't put them in the correct order when he was LOOKING AT ME! "_Ngh_, oh JESUS, you're _staring at me!_" I accused, my embarrassment burying itself under my paranoia.

"'M not he only one," he commented, glaring over the seatback.

Glancing in the same direction, I caught Kenny and Butters peeking over at us, their noses on top of the vinyl. Shrieking at the sight of the hooded boy's grin, I yanked anxiously at my hair. "I didn't, _ngh_, mean to!" I muttered as inaudibly as I could.

"…I know, Tweek. You didn't do anything wrong."

I whimpered, shutting my eyes as my cheeks burned and crushing my lower lip under my teeth. _What am I doing, WHAT AM I DOING?_

"It's okay… you're all right," an unfamiliarly gentle voice informed me, and someone ruffled my terminally messy hair.

_Ruffled. My hair._

My whole face lit up with a vibrant red, and I squeaked, hoping to hell my pants weren't overreacting. Trembling, I nodded weakly. "Okay, C-Craig."

"See ya in second," he sighed, and I finally realized we'd arrived at school. Standing, he paused, watching me clamber around for all my stuff before moving on.

OH SWEET JESUS! How could I make such a fool of myself – even more than I already do on a regular basis – IN FRONT OF HIM? Things were barely starting to change, I was so close to getting of his shit list – at least, I _think_ so, OH GOD, what if I'm _not_ – and I keep fucking up!

It took effort to hold back another onslaught of tears.

-

In English, I didn't hear a word the teacher said, but I undoubtedly interrupted her with a few shrieks as my thoughts swirled around the impossibility that was my current situation with the guy who walked through my dreams. If he knew what I thought of him, he'd change his mind faster than I could panic about underpants gnomes – OH MY GOD, my _underpants_! – and he'd crush me like a disgusting little _bug!_

"Oh Jesus!" I whimpered on my way to study hall, my eyelid quivering disturbingly. Someone bumped into my shoulder, and I cried out, stumbling the lockers to left; somebody laughed loudly, and the color in my cheeks flared. Rushing into the cafeteria to escape more attention, I nearly fell down the five steps to the main floor when my sights locked on Craig.

The beautiful raven was at the table right next to my usual spot against the far wall. He had his back to my trembling body at the moment, but would be fully facing me if I went to sit there. That meant he could _look_ at me whenever he wanted! Sweet _Jesus_, that is WAY too much—

"Move, Spazmoid."

"AUGH!" Leaping away, I watched as Clyde sauntered irately over to his best friend, whose infamous blue he lifted playfully from his head. Twitching nervously, I watched Craig whirl around, scowling coldly at the brunette holding his hat tauntingly above his head. Clyde laughed, knowing he was one of the lucky few who could screw with him and not suffer for it. Jesus, if it had been _me_ to steal his fleece hat – I couldn't, oh god, he'd EAT ME ALIVE!

Stifling a shriek, I saw Craig stand, towering at least two inches over his good friend; Clyde smiled guiltily, hiding the blue fleece behind his back. The raven-haired boy stood stonily, a small smirk sliding into place on his typically emotionless lips. A sick swell of warmth filled my chest, and I didn't notice I was staring at their romp, the taller of the two reaching uselessly around the other, until he caught sight of me and paused. He blinked, causing Clyde to glance over before rolling his chocolate eyes.

Craig briefly held up a hand in greeting.

"GAH!" I blurted, diving for cover, as if I'd been inconspicuous before.

_He saw me, he saw me _staring_, he thinks I'm _creepy_, oh sweet JESUS!_

"Why are you behind the salad cart?"

"JESUS CHRIST!" I managed to fall over, even though at this point I was only inches from the floor. "You _scared_ me!" I panted, clutching at my shirt; my heart was going so fast, _too_ fast. It was gonna break through my ribcage, and thump on the dirty linoleum until it ran out of blood to pump _nowhere_! "_Nnnngh_," I whined to myself, trying desperately to hold back my tireless heart.

A girl I hadn't talked to in years tilted her head, looking skeptical. "Tweek, maybe you should sit at a _table_ now," Bebe suggested in what I wanted to believe was a kind tone.

"_Hrgck_, y-yeah," I stammered weakly, avoiding her chocolate eyes, afraid of what she might say. Clumsily, I picked myself up, edging past the girl with fluffy flaxen curls and shuffling, red-faced, to my usual spot. Some had seen my little overreaction, but most had given up on caring without provocation anymore.

Except Craig. He watched me the whole time.

Eventually, I situated myself, dropping a folder because of my ridiculous shaking. Soon enough, my history book and work sheets for class were out, but as I tried to wrap my head around the info, I came across the dates again. It was so _frustrating_, because the book said 1950-1953, when the handout said 1950-1954. I bet this will be on the test! What if I get it wrong, and she _fails_ me, and I can't _graduate_?? OH GOD, I hafta—

"Hey, Spazmoid. Lookit me."

"OH SWEET JESUS!" Immediately after screeching, I slapped both hands over my mouth, remembering we were supposed to be quiet in study hall. In the process, my pencil flew onto his table, landing, by some bizarre chance, right in front of him.

Glancing shortly down at it before looking back at me, he said, "The dates on the handout are wrong."

"_Hnnnngh_, what??" Oh my god, could he read my thoughts?? CHRIST, he _will_ kill me, for sure! "AUGH, YOU KNOW WHAT I'M THINKING!"

Shaking his head, he picked up my projectile writing utensil, and moved to throw it back at me; I flinched, shutting one eye, afraid he would puncture my skin or something. Thinking better of doing so, he lowered it and leaned forward. "Come up here."

"Why?" I whimpered, old suspicions seeping back into my consciousness. He pulled tricks for years – what stopped him from pulling one now? But he didn't pull any yesterday… Was he just planning something extremely elaborate, to gain my trust? Not that he didn't always have a tiny bit… I've always _wanted_ to trust him…

Yet I've always been so _afraid_ of him, too.

"Want help?" he offered, raising an eyebrow impatiently.

Twitching severely, I blurted, "Yes, _ngh_, please!" HOLY CRAP, WHAT AM I SAYING?!

"Then get off the floor," he suggested mildly, smirking as I flushed.

Scrambling to my feet, I fumbled my book, papers, and notebook, crying out shortly and trying to quickly scoop up the mess, mumbling to myself about my clumsiness and hoping I didn't embarrass him. Clyde snickered at my latest mishap, and my addled mind thought it caught Craig giving him the finger. Eventually I managed to dump all my stuff onto the table, fidgeting awkwardly in place as the noirette raised a brow.

"…You can sit, y'know," he suggested lowly, blinking at me.

My response was an odd, unsettling spasm accompanied by an unidentifiable noise. Craig didn't even flinch, unlike his friend, who frowned and scooted further away.

Whimpering, I ungracefully climbed into the seat, thankful the bench was attached to the table, as it undoubtedly would've fallen over backward and caused me to crack my head open. Then _rats_ would've feasted on my brains and flesh and – OH SWEET JESUS! I don't want to be devoured by sewer rodents!

"Dude, are you okay?"

"AUGH!"

"You're grabbing at your hair again," Craig commented evenly, narrowing his icy gaze in a thoughtful manner. This, of course, made me nervous, and my eyelid twitched once more. "Show me your homework," he instructed quickly, leaning forward and pointedly pulling the history textbook out of the mess I'd created before myself. "And quit pulling your goddamned hair out, you idiot," he scolded tightly, lifting my hands away from my head, "You wanna go bald?"

"Sweet JESUS! No!" I declared, shivering severely at the chill of his skin on mine; was he always so cold? "If I go bald, people will make, _ngh_, fun of me even more! I'll be the laughingstock of the whole _state_, oh my GOD!" I wailed, moving automatically to wrench at my hair. Craig's firm grip on my wrists stopped me before I could even get close, and blood rushed to my cheeks _and_ my pants as I gawked dumbly at the inhuman beauty staring back at me.

"I told you that wasn't gonna happen anymore, remember? Christ," he muttered, adamantly forcing my hands to the table's surface, out of my unruly blonde hair's reach. "Focus on the homework," he said, softer. Clyde groaned. Snapping his attention to the bored brunette, he glared with a glacial level of disapproval, causing Clyde to visibly swallow and look elsewhere. A twinge of all-too-familiar trepidation sent my breathing into overdrive at that cold leer. Once, that look had been reserved for me… And now…?

"You wanna get the dates right, yeah?" he asked me, and I started at the lack of distaste in his expression – he was blank-faced again. "Choksondik is a dipshit. It's not '54, it's '53, like it says in the textbook." He flipped through the pages for a moment, and the strange sensation his hands left on my wrists tingled, as if something important got separated from my skin, and my skin wanted it back. "Here. _This_ is right," he said, interrupting my incoherent train of thought and pointing at a paragraph under the chapter's title, "not _this_." Holding up the salmon-colored sheet, he gave me a skeptical look to prove his point.

I nodded enthusiastically, terrified of his azure eyes traveling anywhere below my neckline. My stupid body was betraying me again, and I tried to subtly bring my clumsy hands to my lap, but being so clumsy, they knocked my thermos over. "GAH!" I screamed, my inconsistent reflexes allowing me to upright it swiftly. Once it was steady, I hung my head and squirmed in place, unsure of what to do next. Habitually, I took my thermos and began unscrewing with the lid, quivering endlessly.

Craig sighed, sitting back again and rolling his hypnotic eyes as I swung the thermos' contents into my mouth.

"Almost out, _ngh_," I mumbled mournfully to myself, making a mental note to get more at lunch.

"What?" he asked quietly, as if he'd wanted to hear, but had in fact, misheard. "Did you say something?"

"Since when do _you_ care what Spazmoid says?" Clyde interjected, wearing the scowl of absolute repulsion.

"_Hrgck_," I choked, unintentionally fueling Clyde's point; to hide my next flare of embarrassment, I chugged more coffee.

Issuing his friend another death glare, he ground out, "Since yesterday at least." Allowing a slight frown to don his flawless lips, he leaned menacingly toward the whining brunette. "What's your point?" he challenged darkly, putting his favorite finger in the air.

Shrinking away, Clyde pouted and glared shortly at me (I whimpered) before casting his hazel gaze to the floor. "Nothin'," he muttered grudgingly. Not even Clyde wanted to be on Craig's shit list, and not for the first time was I grateful I'd somehow been taken off of it. Another thought probed my brain, and I gasped a little too loudly.

Was Clyde headed for the shit list because of ME??

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" I simpered pitifully, "Now I'm on _his_ shit list!"

"What the hell are you _talking_ about, Spazmoid?" Clyde snapped harshly, avoiding his best friend's increasingly icy gaze.

"AUGH!" I knew it! He really, truly hates me now! I didn't mean to make Craig mad at him – I didn't even know how I'd done it! "I'm sorr—"

"_Don't_."

I let the rest of the word crumble into nothing in my mouth; the resulting noise sounded like a garbled whine. Craig returned his attention to his irritated friend as I fidgeted unsurely in my seat, gnawing anxiously on my bottom lip and letting my leg bounce.

"He's never done _anything_ to _anyone_, for Chrissake, so quit rippin' on him. I made the mistake of fucking up his life, and it fuckin' stops now." Turning his sapphire gaze carefully to my baffled green one, he dropped the frown he'd been wearing and wore instead a strange expression bordering on guilt and sorrow and… hope? "I promised," he murmured softly, once again searching my face for unnamable reasons.

I squeaked. "Too much _pressuuure_," I strained, automatically clawing at my hair, my shaking growing progressively more intense, his haunting eyes boring into me.

"Dude, that's so _gay_," Clyde scoffed, wrinkling his nose and staring disbelievingly at his changing friend. Craig remained motionless, and I, impossibly, froze.

What?

"You say _that_ like it's a bad thing!"

"SWEET JESUS!"

Everyone whirled to see Kenny, standing next to our table in the gap between Clyde and Craig. It was surprising I hadn't noticed him sooner, but I wasn't the only one who was shocked by his presence. When did _he_ get here??

"Are you upset because you're not the center of Craig's attention, Clyde?" Kenny cooed in a degrading voice generally used for small children and dogs, pouting mockingly. "Are you jealous of poor Tweek?" He sat himself between the conflicting friends without invitation, and ignored Clyde's bewildered, annoyed protests and leaning onto his elbows.

"What're you doing?" Craig asked the hooded boy quietly, less cold than he had been with his friend, but more guarded.

"Reaping what's been sown," the blonde smirked, glancing across the table and winking at me. I shrieked, quickly covering my mouth afterward, embarrassed.

The gorgeous ebony-haired boy seemed to stiffen to some extent, expression falling blank. "Not _yet,_ you're not," he replied tightly, mixed tones making me even more confused.

Kenny laughed. "Does that mean I'm allowed, when the time comes?" he asked slyly. Craig's eyes widened, and pink tinged his cheeks. Kenny's pleased smirk matched his next words. "Is that a _yes_, Craig? Is _that_ what you were going for? Funny, cuz you thought it up… all, on, your, own! I don't even get to take credit for _this_…"

"Fuck you," Craig said with conviction, flipping him off and facing away with an unsure expression in place of an annoyed one.

"Hot _damn_, do I love being right," Kenny chirped gleefully, before looking me in the eye and grinning. "Don't you?"

"GAH!" was my only reply.

"Leave 'm alone," Craig quite literally growled, lighting a spark of fright in my terminally paranoid brain. CRAP, I made him MAD! "Don't you _dare_," he went on, flipping him off with both hands.

Kenny mimed zipping his lips shut, and the raven-haired boy of my dreams and nightmares narrowed his crystal gaze even further at the perky blonde. Clyde managed to get a word in edgewise on whatever it was he'd started on this time, but I couldn't hear anything anyone was saying anymore. Craig had turned to stare solemnly at my shivering frame, and the only sound registering in my head was the thrum in my eardrums with my heartbeat. Why do his eyes stun? Oh my god, what if one day he looked at me, and I got _paralyzed_?? I'd never be able to move again! I couldn't make coffee, or do my homework, or pull on my hair, or sleep, or see Craig's rare smile, or—

"Tweek!"

"OH JESUS!"

"Didn't you hear the bell, Spazmoid?" Clyde snapped disbelievingly.

"Knock it off," Craig warned, flashing him a dangerous look before watching me again as I clumsily scrambled for my things. "Gotta go to second," he said slowly, moving to stand with his stuff in tow. "Hurry," he suggested, standing over by me and completely ignoring Clyde's whining from behind us.

In my thoughts I'd gotten lost – his beautiful eyes were no help, either – and somehow didn't notice the bell ring for third. Even Kenny was waiting, and a strange swell of warmth caused me to… smile. Just – just a little, in addition to my vibrant blush. Someone, _two_ someones, were _waiting_ for me. Somebody wanted to go to class with me. As I kept my head down, fidgeting with the outer zipper of my bag, I let myself revel in the amazing feeling of not being resented, for even just a few minutes, by the people around me.

Then it occurred to me that maybe they _did_ resent me – because they were being _forced_ into it. Who actually wanted to be around me? No one! Was Craig being blackmailed? Oh sweet Jesus, what if the mob has his mother tied to a chair in some warehouse basement across town, and they were forcing Craig to suffer through my paranoid company before they would let her go?? OH GOD! It's all my fault they've got her _gunpoint_!

Kenny and Craig were on either side of me, the blonde grinning and eying passers-by, the noirette gazing dully ahead. I hung back a little, letting them get further down the hall without me. Paused, I figured that if Craig had to suffer, I could at least make it easier for him. Biting my lip, I watched them turn the corner, and shuffled along with my head down again. How stupid could I get, thinking he was _willing_ to be around me?

"Hey, Spazmoid."

"GAH!"

Somebody seized my shoulder, yanking me backwards and shoving me face-first into the nearby lockers, knocking my alarmed shriek right out of my lungs. They grabbed a fistful of my messy hair, and slammed the side of my head into the metal roughly, making my ears ring and my vision blur for a split second. I cried out in fear as my arm was bent back up behind me, sending twinges of pain through the muscles; I struggled vehemently, panicked as scenarios of mugging and rape flashed through my mind as my captor leaned into my ear.

"What're you doing to Craig, you _freak_?"

"_Ngh_, w-what??"

"WHAT'VE YOU DONE TO MY BEST FRIEND, YOU SONUVABITCH!?"

Whimpering was all I could do, I was so scared. I felt tears well up in my eyes as Clyde pressed my skull harder into the unforgiving lockers. My body was trembling uncontrollably, and my knees were about to give in. _Oh my god_, my head screamed, though my throat was clenched closed with terror, _Clyde's gonna __kill__ me!_

"CLYDE! What the _fuck_ are you doing?!" someone raged from another direction.

And then I was free.

* * *

**A/N** once again: And suddenly, there's an established antagonist. =o Sweet. Needed one of those, methinks. And ha, Bebe made a cameo appearance. =D Oh, and don't ask me where I'm going with Kenny's "reaping," cuz just like I still don't really have a plot, I don't really know what he's talking about. =_='

This chapter felt longer than it actually was. At least, it did when I was writing/typing/reading it... ._.'

I LOVE REVIEWS, they seriously keep me going, even if this update failed. =3

KTHNXbai.


	8. What are you so UPSET about!

**A/N**: OH MY GOD, 50 REVIEWS! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW HAPPY THAT MAKES ME! X333 I FUCKING ADORE YOU PEOPLE.

AUGH, I've been so _busy_! I've had so many choir things going on, I've had no time at all to type this up. But here it is, and I hope it's good enough. ._.

So the whole Clyde thing? Yeah, I was having trouble with this. Remember how a while ago I said I had no plot? Well, this is part of the problem. I write a chapter, throwing in the inspirations that come, but they often have nowhere to go. Therefore, I hope the Clyde scene doesn't suck ass. =_=' I sort-of took into consideration the reviews I got, mashing up the vague idea I had, and then the result follows. I may end up hating it as I write later chapters, so don't be surprised if I announce in the future that I've edited this chapter…

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

_Craig's P.O.V._

"What are you so UPSET about?!"

My fist connecting with my best friend's skull felt oddly relieving as he flew sideways at the blow and released Tweek's frail frame, landing on the tile with a _thud_. The small, shaking blonde fell to his knees, supporting himself with an arm on the locker and a hand on the floor. He wore a mask of sheer terror, and I could have sworn he had tears in his huge emerald eyes. Guilt consumed me, and without a second thought, I rushed to his side, crouching on one knee and attempting to see if he was badly hurt. The crowd of onlookers didn't even faze me as I automatically gave them all the finger.

"Hey," I said softly, leaning down to his level, "Are you okay? Lookit me…"

Quivering, he carefully turned to face me, eyes wide and hesitant. "I-I'm sorry! I, _ngh_, didn't mean to – AUGH, I didn't mean to do anything to you!" he choked out, bright red and clearly trying not to cry.

Ugh, my heartstrings. How come he's the only one who can pull on them?

"_Craig?_"

At the sound of Clyde's anxious voice, I looked past the tiny blonde kid before me and locked gazes with him. My face fell blank, and a bizarre fury boiled in my veins. Clyde knew me well enough to gulp and start scrambling backward, hazel eyes wide with sudden urgency at my cold rage. Slowly, I stood, and the gaping crowd around us took a few steps back in unison, sensing an oncoming explosion.

"Dude, relax, he's fine, right?" Clyde babbled, aiming to get to his feet. "Why do you _care,_ man? You're not _actually_ _mad_, are you?" he continued desperately as I approached at a leisurely pace, my face betraying no emotion even though the anger inside me was starting to affect my fists. "Dude, Craig! It's me, Clyde, your _best-fucking-friend!_" he began defensively, finally standing. "What are you so UPSET about?! It's just fucking Spaz—"

The wind was knocked out of him as I seized his shirtfront and threw him into the lockers, using my forearm to hold him back at the collarbone. Narrowing my gaze, I asked him calmly, "What did you think you were doing?"

It took him a moment to recover, but he looked me in the eye. "I – you're different, man!" he said, skirting around the question. "I didn't hardly do _nothin'!_"

"The _hell_ you didn't!" I barked, finally letting my demeanor match my fervor, snarling and backing away from the misbehaving brunette in disgust. Throwing an arm in Tweek's direction, I allowed my voice to gain volume. "Look at him! You scared the ever-lovin' _shit_ outta him! This guy has never done _anything_ to you!" Then I turned to the onlookers, who practically leapt back. "OR YOU! OR ME! Or _anybody_ else, for god's sake!"

"Dude, what has he _done_ to you?"

Whirling back to face Clyde, I grabbed the front of his shirt again and brought him up to my face. "_Nothing_," I hissed. "Maybe I'm just sick of fucking with innocent people, Clyde." My glare dared him to retort, and I was only so surprised when he did.

"But _you_ started it!" he shouted defiantly.

"AND I'M **ENDING** IT!"

Silence filled the tension-heavy air as Clyde and I stared each other down; all that could be heard was our heavy breathing and the sound of squeaking rubber soles on the floor as people watching us shifted for a better view.

"I'm, _ngh_, sorry!"

Simultaneously, Clyde and I snapped our heads in the trembling blonde's direction, thrown off at the sight of him standing not three feet away. His head was down, fingers nervously playing with the buttons of his poorly-buttoned shirt and toes angled toward each other. I blinked. When did he get up?

"This is all, _ngh_, my fault," he strained, twitching and moving one hand to rub at the opposite arm. "Clyde's just confused cuz you, _ngh_, cuz you don't make a point of hating my—GAH!—guts."

Whoa, whoa, hold up. He thinks this is _his_ fault?

Of course he does.

And that's my fault.

Releasing Clyde's collar, I dropped my homicidal expression, but my fists remained clenched with indignation. Clyde smoothed out his shirt, avoiding my eyes and backing away cautiously. He wouldn't look at Tweek, either.

"What're you talking about, Tweek?" I murmured, taking a step closer and forcing my voice to calm so I wouldn't scare him.

He squeaked, lowering his head even more. "You – you _are_ acting, _ngh_, different, and it's gotta be because, _ngh_, of me," he explained, ashamed without reason. "So Clyde just, _ngh_, addressed the problem…"

Regret weighed on me for ever making him think that way. Sure, he was in the equation, but he wasn't the… the _fault_. Why does being the reason someone changes for the better have to be blame-worthy? Just because I'm not treating somebody like dirt anymore doesn't mean that somebody should feel _guilty_ about it! There he goes again – hurting. For an odd, short second, I wonder if he _is_ a masochist after all.

"Stop taking the blame for everything," I commanded firmly, accidentally making him flinch. "Do you think I'm different for the _worse_?"

"GAH!" Tweek looked up at me, huge emerald orbs wavering, bottom lip being chewed. He fidgeted in place. "Well, I… _hrgck_, no…?"

"Then chill." It was strange to feel… protective of the smaller boy, but I don't think I could've let Clyde get away with that. Speaking of which, I glanced to where Clyde stood, gawking disbelievingly at the both of us. He caught me watching and nearly fell backward. "…Do anything like that again, and I'll fucking _slaughter_ you, Clyde. Best friend or not," I informed him coolly. "I'll talk to you later, okay? We'll deal with this _without_ dragging him into it," I added, a little less bitingly. Clyde was still my friend, ridiculous overreactions aside. If he actually wanted to _understand_, I would at least try to explain.

…But _could_ I explain? I didn't even know myself.

The late bell rang, and as if waking from a spell, the curious bystanders surrounding our little scene dispersed, filling the halls with excited chatter about what just happened.

"AUGH, that was _so_ much PRESSURE!"

Laughing (which felt good), I turned back to see Tweek clutching at his chaotic golden locks, whimpering and gnawing on his lip, shivering intensely. "Tweek…"

"I almost started _crying_, and, _ugh_, you would've been annoyed, and then you would've – OH JESUS! You _and_ Clyde would've punched me in the face! AHH!" he fretted.

"No one was gonna punch you in the f—"

"Clyde was!"

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't 've let him," I said with a frown. Did he _not_ just see what happened between Clyde and me?

"I'm sorry I, _ngh_, got your best friend mad!"

That did it. "You've gotta be _kidding_ me," I muttered, irate. Taking his wrist and ignoring his cry of shock, I headed for chemistry. "What did I tell you about apologizing?"

"GAH! Um, don't do it?" he offered hesitantly, having trouble keeping up with my long, quick strides.

I slowed a little for his benefit. "So don't do it."

"_Hnnngh_, okay…"

My face felt a little warm, and so did the hand holding Tweek's wrist – but that was probably because he was so warm himself. I tried not to think about my face, Kenny's earlier invasion coming to mind anyway. _Damn_ him for insinuating… Now I couldn't stop thinking about it. And speaking of Kenny, where did that smarmy bastard go? That kid is as elusive as a fucking ninja, I swear.

As soon as my foot passed the invisible line between hall and classroom, I simultaneously let Tweek have his hand back and stopped dead in my tracks; every set of eyes in the room was on us, and you could practically _taste_ the anticipation in the atmosphere, eager and anxious faces watching the small blonde peek inside from behind me. I braced myself.

"OH JESUS! You're all, _ngh_, staring!" He launched himself backward, presumably out of sight, and naturally, fell flat on his back. "AUGH!"

Sighing, I turned and wordlessly bent to offer my hand. Tweek shrieked, blushing and twitching. He rolled onto his stomach and began pushing himself to his knees, emitting a small squeak as he did, eventually rising without my help. Furrowing my brow, I saw him rub at his arm – the arm Clyde had unconventionally wrenched up behind the poor guy – and tried to pull his hand away again before he thought I could notice. But I did. A flash of anger made me clench my fists, but concern drowned out the heat.

"Does it still hur—" I started carefully, about to reach out.

Someone cleared her throat rather dramatically, and I turned to see our teacher watching us unsurely. "I think you've had enough time in the halls, boys," she said slowly, eying me meaningfully, "And I'm sure _one_ of you will be seeing the counselor very shortly."

"GAH! I didn't _mean_ to!"

"Not you, Tweek," I clarified tiredly. He shrieked. I was on a counselor-free streak (eight days even), but I just had to get in a fight. Well, it wasn't much of a fight – as far as fights go, that was _kindergarten_ – but Clyde is still kind-of a crybaby, and word gets around fast in a small school. If we didn't have "concerned adults," no one would care after the fact.

I stepped aside to let the trembling coffee fiend enter first, flipping off the entire room as I followed, my expression flat once more. The class passed without incident, and the tingling sensation on the back of my neck informed me of the twitchy kid's gaze the whole time. Everything the teacher said went right over my head, since my thoughts occupied themselves with excuses. I was trying to come up with reasons for Clyde to freak out so bloody much, along with an explanation for my own fury at his actions. But every time I came close to a decent rationalization, Tweek's terrified face and shaking voice sprang up in front of it, and the excuse was instantly forgotten. I promised. I _promised_.

It wasn't until the bell for fourth rang that I realized I'd been grinding my teeth together, and, relaxing my jaw, I tenderly massaged the spaces below my ears along with my temples. Once I was on my feet, I was promptly bombarded with commentary from Kenny, whom I hadn't even noticed was in the room to begin with.

"So. You've got a _great_ right hook, Craig. Do you do any martial arts? Boxing? It was a good thing you went easy on Clyde, too. Looked like he was gonna piss his pants!"

"What were you doing when that went down?" I asked in a typically flat tone, as the notorious nympho laughed at his own words. "You've got a _great_ disappearing act," I said blandly, using his phrasing.

"What, you wanted help?" he threw back skeptically, eying Tweek as he stumbled out the doorway ahead of us. Giving me no time to respond, he nudged me forward, raising his eyebrows significantly and inclining his hooded head in the smaller blonde's direction. "_Talk to him_," he mouthed dramatically as I shot him a weary look.

"Hey," I murmured simply as I walked up beside him.

"OH JESUS! Hi, _ngh_, C-Craig," he blurted in return, the caffeine in his veins causing him to twitch violently. He'd also leapt about a foot to the left in shock, but carefully edged closer after having nearly knocked over a trashcan. His thermos was in his hands again, and he fiddled with it absentmindedly. "I never, _ngh_, thanked you for—GAH!—helping me," he began, apparently speaking to me, even though he was aiming his words at his tattered Converse. "I'm sorry if I, _urk_, embarrassed you or, _ngh_, Clyde."

Fucking hell. I was getting so _sick_ of that.

"Dude, it's not your fault," I insisted, sighing in irritation. Tweek whimpered. "If you apologize for something out of your control _one more time_, I'll…" I'd…

"AUGH!" the coffee-addict yelped, verdant eyes wide. "Don't kill me!"

"…I …didn't say that." Sorrow gripped at my throat. Was this really how he thought every day – that everybody was out to get him? Well, I could see why he'd still think _I_ was. "I didn't say _anything_. I won't kill you," I assured him, smirking. I guess it _was_ a little amusing.

He still seemed reluctant. "Then _what??_" he asked cautiously, nerves evident in his voice.

'Then what?' How was I supposed to answer _that_ when I don't know myself? The sentence came out as I was thinking it, as though the connection from my brain to my mouth was interrupted or something. "Good question," I eventually muttered, trying to figure it out for both our sakes as we entered history class.

The quivering, caffeinated blonde shuffled anxiously to his desk, and I took my own seat next to Token, who glanced up at me with intuitive chocolate eyes. At first, I ignored his analytical gaze, busying myself with pulling my notebook out and actually copying down what was written on the board. This further aroused my friend's suspicions – I'm not known for doing class work, despite my decent grades. Token narrowed his gaze, and finally I gave in.

"Christ – _what_?" I grumbled, scowling and meeting his stare.

Token looked almost horrified, wrinkling his nose. "Dude. You're _frowning_," he breathed disbelievingly.

This fact seemed completely irrelevant to me. "And?"

"You _never_ frown. You never make human facial expressions!"

I blinked, this was true – for the most part: I didn't _used_ to.

"What happened after second period, man? Clyde was whining about it all through Spanish," he went on, getting to his question.

"He attacked Tweek." I shrugged. "Kid doesn't need that anymore."

Now the rich boy gawked. "Since when was Spazmoid '_Tweek?'_"

Why was everyone so stuck on this?

"IT'S HIS FUCKING NAME, ISN'T IT?" I challenged loudly, earning a severe look from Ms. Choksondik. I gave her the finger and lowered my voice, only feeling guilt due to the aforementioned blonde's panicked screech at my volume. "I'm not gonna torture the guy anymore, okay? And I'm not letting anyone _else_ fuck with him, either." Tensing, I forced myself to add, "I'm fixing my mistake."

"Why?" Token inquired, slipping back into his neutral-in-a-conflict persona. He and Stan get along well for this reason – they didn't necessarily care either way, but they always wanted to know _why_. I don't work like that; I definitely take sides, even though I act like I don't give a shit. Normally, this question is something I would ignore and shrug off, but this time I was just getting annoyed.

"Cuz I'm sick of always being an asshole." The answer came out without my consent, but I found it wasn't totally inaccurate. "And, dude – he's totally harmless," I added, "What'd he do to deserve the shit everyone's put him through?"

His intelligent eyes searched my face for some deceit, some sarcasm, my previous self having been close to a compulsive liar. Honestly, I still am, but continue to open my mouth a hell of a lot less than I used to. Token seemed satisfied with my odd sincerity, and simply said, "All right, then," before promptly dropping the subject.

The rest if the class was uneventful, and the only thing keeping me awake was the tingling on my skin that came from Tweek's nervous gaze. It made my chest ache a little, though I couldn't tell you why, but I almost enjoyed the feeling. I didn't turn to look at him, instead imagining him fidgeting in place, twitching adorably as he worried over nothing.

Fuck. There was that 'adorable' again. Clyde's accusation slammed into the front of my brain, and as the thought truly hit me, I went rigid in my seat. I felt protective, recently, of that coffee-crazed blonde, and even… possessive? It aggravated me to see him hurt now, even if he hurt himself, and I wanted to nail offenders to the ground and pummel them to mush – Clyde himself was an excellent example of a near-victim of that same urge. I probably _would_ have decked him at least, if the quivering kid sitting a few yards behind me hadn't said anything when he did…

But did that make me _gay_?

Sexuality never really mattered to me. I've never had a problem with homos, but not in a million years would I ever have considered the possibility of _being_ one. Or maybe I wasn't. Maybe I was bi or something. I've thought people were hot, sure, but I never put a _label_ on the feeling in my crotch. And as weird as it sounds… I've only jerked off a few times, and it was to Red Racer. Yeah, yeah, laugh it off, ha, ha. Moving on… It's not like I've never had fantasies, mostly involving Rose Tyler, Martha Jones, and Max Guevara, but the sad truth is—oh.

Holy shit, I _do_ like men! I haven't fantasized or fapped in so long, I forgot I dreamed about the Winchesters and Jack Harkness. Oh fuck. The Tenth Doctor, too… It's like my libido is mocking me, toying with my head.

As I called my sexuality into question, I didn't notice that the teacher had given us free reign of the classroom for the last five minutes of class, and I was suddenly joined by a blonde in a bright orange hoodie. He startled me, which is _not_ easy to do, and I glared.

"So it finally registered, huh," he commented smugly, smirking and leaning back in his chair. I suddenly wished Kevin wasn't absent.

"Fuck you," I growled, flicking him the appropriate gesture, and to my horror I felt my face flush.

"Oh, it's not _me_ you wanna fuck…" he purred slyly, leaning into my ear and reveling in my embarrassment.

Shoving his shoulder, I groaned; I walked right into that one. "Shut up," I muttered, the heat in my cheeks intensifying as Tweek's gaze continued to bore into the back of my skull.

Kenny just chuckled, sighing contentedly. "Don't be so bashful, Craig," he teased, more genuine. "Freakin' the fuck out won't help, though. Take it slow, dude."

I stared at him like he'd just sprouted a dick from his forehead, aghast with my eyes wide. "Dude, Kenny. What the hell," I said flatly, knitting my brow. "You aren't _seriously_ suggesting—"

"Why not?" he retorted before I could finish.

"What?"

Rolling his eyes, the sex-hungry blonde scoffed. "Jesus Christ, Craig. If you think you like someone, you're allowed to go for 'em, you know. Don't deny yourself before you _try_."

"Who said I _liked_ him?" I challenged.

He stared skeptically. "That right there. The way you assumed I was talking about him."

"This is stupid." Shifting in my seat, I avoided his gaze, attempting to keep my expression bored.

"Sure, Craig," Kenny said agreeably, "but so what?"

For the second time in the last two hours, I didn't have an answer. Blinking, I turned to see Tweek. He shrieked at me, tumbling back and sideways in his chair, taking it with him on his trip to the ground. I blinked again, surprised, as he smacked his head hard on the pseudo-tile. Kenny chuckled and shook his head, Token sighing exasperatedly. I stood swiftly, panic coursing through me as he rolled onto his side with a groan, curling up and clutching at his damaged skull with bony hands. What if he gave himself a concussion? What if he had a seizure? Can you even _have_ a seizure from head trauma?

He was about to chomp off his bottom lip, biting it so hard, and he had his eyes shut so tightly I was afraid he'd, like, sprain his eyelids or something. As I knelt at his side again, a chorus of laughter failing to be stopped by the useless teacher echoed maliciously around us. It took effort to calm a wave of rage and desperation.

"Hey," I murmured, getting down low so he could hear me. "Are you okay? You're good at obtaining head injuries," I went on jokingly, realizing it was ridiculous in addition to inappropriate. "C'mon, Tweek," I began carefully, reaching to pull his slim fingers away from his head. "Lemme see…"

Whimpering and trembling severely, he timidly lifted his thin hands away, breathing in haggardly. Inspecting the skin under his untamed locks of golden hair, I discovered a bruise starting to form, and when I pulled my own hand away, the fingertips were red with blood – not soaked, or anything, but there was definitely a cut back there. The little that was on me smeared when I rubbed my fingertips together experimentally. He winced when I tried looking again, so I pulled back entirely.

"Can you get up?" I asked brusquely, deciding on impulse to be more than just concerned. "Tweek?"

"N-no," he stammered weakly, voice cracking. You didn't need a high I.Q. to know he wanted to cry.

"Right then."

"_Hrgck!_" Squealing, he flailed a little as I hefted him onto my back from off the floor.

"Don't panic, but you're bleeding," I stated, jerking him upright to get him in a more comfortable position. While Tweek clutched at my shoulders, leaning anxiously into me, he began muttering paranoid possibilities to himself. I left the classroom without another word, ignoring my classmates in favor of more important matters.

-

"Well, hello again, Tweek," the husky nurse greeted, seeming completely unsurprised to see the pair of us.

"He hit his head," I explained, lowering him carefully into a decrepit padded chair. "Hard," I added helpfully. Tweek flinched as I gently took his hands away from his newest wounds yet again. "Could you, ya know, _look_, please?" I asked pointedly when she didn't immediately respond.

"Yes, yes," she said tiredly, waving a hand in dismissal.

"And his hands…" I suggested as she came over.

"You can leave," she grumbled, leaning over the shaky blonde to examine his injury. "If you want."

"AUGH! Please don't, _ngh_, C-Craig!" he blurted, his huge eyes full of fear. "Don't… leave me alone in here," he pleaded, cheeks tinged pink.

My chest swelled the way it had most of yesterday and only a few minutes ago, and I couldn't help but be both embarrassed and saddened. I was also incredibly confused, but I didn't let myself dwell on anything, simply taking a seat in a chair with a ripped cushion, adjacent from the coffee kid. He cast his gaze downward, wincing occasionally as the nurse daubed the small cut on the back of his head with antiseptic-soaked cotton balls, his hands picking at themselves.

Glancing around, I saw a box of gauze, and without permission, I went over to it, pulling out a roll and grabbing cotton balls in hope of using the hydrogen peroxide myself.

"GAH! C-C, what're you—!"

"Chill. I'm redoing your bandages," I informed him, flipping the nurse off when she looked down at my kneeling figure skeptically. "I've taken first-aid," I stated for both their benefits.

His hands were so _warm_. Holding them in mine, I felt a little guilty – I probably felt like ice to him. Wiping the gouges with the peroxide the nurse handed me, I was tempted to ask if his parents knew about any of these injuries. Wouldn't they have given him new gauze, a few band-aids at least, if he'd shown them? How could they not notice? I mean, he was always using his hands – tugging at his hair, fidgeting with his clothes, holding coffee – so when you see the bandages, you wonder what happened, right? Didn't his parents?

Or did he never show them?

"Why didn't you replace this all last night?" I asked instead.

"_Ngh_, I didn't notice," he said after a beat, and I knew he was lying. He shivered violently, biting his lip, his wavering emerald orbs darting between me and his poorly healed hands.

"Are you lying?" I questioned bluntly. I blinked at myself. Since when was I this forward?

"Ahh!" he wailed, pulling his arms back slightly, his lip being crushed under his teeth again as his pretty, enormous green eyes locked onto the door to his left. There was a great likelihood that he wanted to escape. "N-n-no, _ngh_, I-I'm not – OH MY GOD! I'm _lying!_" he screamed, reeling backward and slamming his head. Trying to act fast, I jerked him forward, having had his hands in mine already. I ended up on the floor, on my back, with Tweek sprawled on top of me.

_Déjà vu_, I thought.

* * *

**A/N II**: Did anyone else think of Persona 4 when Token and Craig were talking? ^_^' Ugh. A plot would be nice. We're nearing some action here, ladies and gents, I promise! D=


	9. Trust

Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me this far! I know it's long, but the good parts are on their way! =3

**A/N**: I actually wrote this in less than a week! O_o Oh lawd. That's an accomplishment for me, cuz I usually take a week, but this time, I sat down and wrote four pages in an hour… then I took my typical time, so it still took, like, five or six days. ._. But I was on a ROLL, ladies 'n gents, and I'm happy with the first bit of this chapter especially.

Sorry, Clyde fans, he's not quite a good guy again yet (- wording wut), but it's coming. Not having a plot has inspired me to draw out what little of it I could. XD

ANYWAY! Here it is. Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

_Tweek's P.O.V._

Trust

My breath caught in my dry throat, and I almost panicked about choking on it when my brain finally registered exactly _why_ I suddenly had breathing issues. I couldn't even scream, so absolutely shocked was I at my position. Both of us were completely still, and while I started feeling compromised and overtly embarrassed, Craig just stared up at me, no particular emotion or expression yet on his face. As my regular shakes began to naturally kick in, I tried to open my mouth to say something, but all I could think about was how cool he was under me. My hot body probably burned his healthier temperature, but my panic at giving him third degree burns subsided, instantly replaced with alarm at the realization that an erection was growing in my pants.

"Ahh!" I squealed again, instinctively trying to leap away, but the raven beneath me still had hold of my wrists – he hadn't let go even when I'd fallen on top of him. Tangling us up further, it at last occurred to me that maybe he was trying to _trap_ me. "Oh Jesus," I whimpered. What if he kept me pinned to the floor _forever_, and I died of dehydration because I couldn't have COFFEE?? "_Ngh_, C-Craig!" I pleaded pathetically, struggling weakly, cursing my lack of strength.

"Tweek."

Warmth rushed to my cheeks as his beautiful lips formed my awful name, and I stopped wriggling. My boner continued growing steadily, and I bit harshly into my lip. "Yeah? C-Craig?"

"Are you okay?" he asked neutrally.

"I'm, _ngh_, okay, I think," I strained, wondering if he hated having me shiver against him. "…Are _you?_"

"Yeah…"

"OH MY GOD!" I shrieked as something pressed into my abdomen, and Craig flinched, eyes widening and face— "OH SWEET JESUS!" Was he _blushing_?! "Oh god, it's the, _ngh_, end of the world! AUGH!" Using the little brawn I had, I yanked my hands free and started to push myself up.

"Tweek… Tweek, c'mere," Craig murmured, taking hold of the back of my neck; he tugged me gently back down, pressing my chaotic head to his chest. Since I was so used to obeying his every command, I didn't fight back this time, forcing myself to get a grip. My ear was over his heart, and the combination of its steady beat and his chilly hand on my skin made a wave of calm wash over me. Some part of my mind wondered why, while the other part simply reveled in it, hoping my boner would not interfere. The caffeine in my system was almost unidentifiable as my quivering began to fade.

"C-Craig…" I don't know why I said it, I just did.

"Relax," he suggested almost inaudibly. "Relax."

Shutting my eyes, I breathed in slowly, thankful it wasn't nearly as useless an attempt as it would've been two minutes ago. The taller boy brought his other hand to my head, and I started.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he assured me, sounding something close to sad. "I promise."

Still, I tensed. His cool, long fingers ran through my messy, tangled hair, stroking my maltreated locks delicately. A wonderful, ticklish sensation spread across my skin, and I shivered pointedly, unintentionally moving into the touch, feeling…

Safe.

"You're gonna be all right." His voice was still quiet, but it held a determination and a kindness.

I believed him because I trusted him – because I've always, always, _always_ wanted to. And finally…

I could.

-

Clyde didn't show up at lunch, and Craig invited me to sit with him and his friends again. I didn't argue, though I was afraid of upsetting of one of _them_, too. Craig may have told me it wasn't my fault, but it _was!_ The thirty-five minute time slot passed without incident, unless you count Craig eying me disapprovingly when I gave Kenny my lunch.

"I'm not, _ngh_, not hungry," I said. I was only a _little_ hungry.

"You should eat something," he said lowly.

"So should Kenny," I countered thoughtlessly, snapping my jaw shut immediately afterward. I'd never talked back to anybody… Not since elementary school.

He looked over at Kenny, who froze with a chicken strip an inch from his mouth, eyes wide with an awkward guilt. Shrugging, Craig handed me his apple, and Kenny carefully bit into the meat, shoulders falling with relief. The blonde kept a weary eye on the boy giving me food, just in case he decided to change his mind.

Hesitantly, I took the fruit from Craig, and carefully ate. Craig smirked, pleased with something I forced my paranoid mind not to worry over.

-

Kenny walked with me to algebra, and I ended up helping him with some of the problems we were assigned, the nodded boy sitting up close to me, as if he didn't mind the contact. I wasn't used to friendliness (one extra reason the nurse's office incident was awkward), but his grin didn't feel fake, so I felt like I was… human to him. He and Craig were the only people not making me feel like a worthless freak lately.

"Thanks—GAH!—Kenny," I said, interrupting one of his questions and offering a tiny smile. It was the biggest I could manage.

He looked up at me, studying my face with his lively oceanic eyes. He returned the smile, seeming to know exactly what I was talking about. "Sorry I didn't do this kind of thing earlier," he began sincerely. "But I figured you were waiting for _someone else_ to get to you first," he went on, his smile morphing into a smirk. I flushed brightly. "Though I guess it wouldn't 've _hurt_…" Now he frowned. "Damn, I suck."

"AUGH! No!" I protested straightaway. "You're fine! I, _ngh_, understand. You could've been teased, too…"

"Doesn't make it okay," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "I've never disliked you, Tweek. I should've made that clear a long time ago." Gazing sadly at me, he sighed again. I jumped when he slung an arm over my shoulders, his demeanor shifting to its usual upbeat. "Never again!" he announced. "You're not alone anymore! We'll make sure of _that_."

While I babbled nonsensically at him about nothing at all, I panicked internally over whom he included in the 'we' he just used. Me? Butters? Holy crap, was _he_ with the mob?? Or was it… Craig?

I had to remind myself not to get cocky just cuz he didn't hate me anymore…

-

My mind hadn't stopped reeling around Craig's heartbeat, not even when I nearly tripped over Cartman's foot trying to get to my desk in German class. Kenny had once again walked with me, and I refrained from letting myself fret over reasons. If he and the boy I shouldn't want were treating me benevolently, I would let the illusion last as long as it could.

We had a substitute teacher that day, and keeping in tradition with German class subs, he spoke not a word of the language, and wasn't exactly aware of what was supposed to happen, or even what already was – people changed seats, and I expected the desks around me to become free of occupancy. Imagine my shock when Craig, Kenny, and the Son of Satan sat around me. The flame-eyed boy surprised more than just me, even though I was the only one who screamed at his presence.

"What are you, _ngh_, doing over here??" I stupidly stammered. "OH GOD! Please don't set me on, _ngh_, fire!" I wailed, my eyelid twitching as I recalled his first appearance in third grade.

Damien ignored me, turning his attention to Craig, who was staring intensely at him with ice to contrast his fire. "No reason," he answered darkly, smirking evilly. Craig flipped him off, and he chuckled. "Actually," he began slowly, scarlet eyes flashing, "I was wondering…"

"What?" Craig pressed impatiently.

"How'd you two sleep last night?" He glanced meaningfully at me, and I whimpered, lost as to why he'd ask us that. Was he _stalking_ me?? Oh god, was he making fun of my insomnia? But I actually _slept_ last night! Did he know about my dream??

Craig narrowed his azure gaze at the Anti-Christ. "You…" He stiffened, eyes flicking momentarily to me; I bit back a whimper, wondering what was wrong. "_You_," he breathed in revelation, now gaping at Damien with a mix of horror and confusion. "What the fuck?!" he accused, scowling distastefully and flipping him off with both hands.

The demon-eyed boy smirked deviously in response. "You got balls, Craig Tucker, I'll give you that. So in return for your… _bravery_, I made the connection for you – for the _both_ of you." The guy who prevailed in my thoughts scowled deeper, fists clenching. "What?" he cooed mockingly, "You can't be _angry_, lover boy?"

'LOVERBOY??' Holy _crap_, did I _miss_ something?! Does Craig have a secret girlfriend?? AUGH, how could I not _know_?? I'm practically his – OH GOD, I'M A STALKER!

"Ahh!" I wailed, clutching at my hair. "I don't _wanna_ be a stalker!"

Only Kenny looked oddly at me, the raven-haired boys too distracted by each other to react.

"What did you _do_?" Craig demanded slowly, upper lip curling slightly.

"Like I said: I just made the connection. _You_ guys… did the rest." He sounded extremely pleased with himself, even triumphant.

I was lost – _so_ lost – that I finally blurted, "What're you guys _talking_ about?? _Ngh_, are you speaking in code??" I gasped theatrically as the thought hit me. "Oh _man_, you're with the FBI, aren't you?!" The fear of getting my memories erased by a laser beam through my forehead overcame the logical likelihood of the event. Scrambling backward, I almost brought my desk to the floor, but I managed to crawl onto the heater instead, as it ran along under the windows at a convenient height for my panic. "You can't have my memories!" I shouted, pointing my whole arm at the Devil's son. "I don't even, _ngh_, remember seeing anything! SWEET JESUS!" I pressed myself against a window, the cold making me shiver potently. "You've already done it! Oh my god!"

"Are you sure he's only on _caffeine_?" Damien skeptically asked Craig, who was watching me with a small frown as he began to rise.

My heart sped up threefold when he gave the Anti-Christ the finger and stood, eyes never leaving mine. "No one's FBI," he assured me in his quiet voice. "You should come down, you're gonna hurt yourself…" Automatically, I shook my head no, disbelieving of his words – it would be _just like_ the FBI to hire the Son of Satan! "Dude," he went on, sighing, "you could fall out the window." He smirked. "We're on the second floor, remember?"

"AUGH!" I dropped, scrambling off the heater and away from the deathtrap I'd nearly fallen through. "I don't wanna, _ngh_, die!" A hand rested on my shoulder, and I shrieked, jumping. "Sweet Jesus!"

"You're fine, Tweek," Craig murmured, "Don't do that again." His expression went from mildly relieved to serious in a split second. I chomped into my lip and nodded obediently.

"Okay," I mumbled, embarrassed to no end. He hadn't yet let go of my shoulder, and the contact made me blush.

"Tweek, was it? Your teacher told me about you. Please refrain from having 'episodes' on the heaters," the sub broke in, startling me. He stood behind Craig with a weary look. "They're expensive and a pain to fix. Listen to your friend."

My… friend?

"Yeah," Damien interjected, chuckling arrogantly. "Listen to your _friend_." He threw Craig a wink, which was promptly given the finger.

"Finish your work, please," the substitute continued. He walked off, leaving us to stand in awkward silence under the eyes of our classmates.

"…You're not FBI?" I finally asked of the demon child, still scared and entirely skeptical. Having Craig nearby curbed my worry, but I feared for him, too.

"Yes, I'm sure. I am not, nor have I ever been an FBI agent, Spazmoid."

"His _name_ is Tweek," Craig ground out, glaring.

Damien chuckled again. "My mistake, Craig."

"It's okay. I'm, _ngh_, used to it," I started awkwardly, averting my eyes and fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. "I don't… mind."

"No, it's _not_ okay," the boy in the blue chullo muttered. What he did next worried me, because what if he fell and broke his leg? Or his arm? Or – OH GOD – his _skull!_ Climbing onto his desk, he shoved his hands into his pockets and waited for the room to notice his increased height. He raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Kenny bemusedly kicked back to watch the show he was right to anticipate. Was I the only one upset over his safety??

"Hey," he said in a loud monotone, to gain the attention of the last few kids who weren't yet looking. The substitute attempted to sound intimidating as he told Craig to get down, earning a middle finger from the boy instead. "Let's get this straight. This guy—" he started, pointing down at me; I yelped, crouching to avoid the stares. "—This guy is _not_ 'Spazmoid.' It's not his name – it's never _been_ his name. From now on, if I hear ONE MORE PERSON call him 'Spazmoid'…" He paused for emphasis, and I ducked under a desk, gripping my hair habitually. "There will be _Hell_ to pay," he finished darkly, narrowing his icy gaze.

"Pass it on," Kenny suggested lightly to our classmates, grinning.

-

When we walked into Mentorship, Token was waiting, watching Craig expectantly. While I went for my seat, he stood over by him, and Token started conversing with him in urgent whispers, glancing occasionally to me. At some point, the boy with stunning eyes turned to look as well, and I yelped, dropping the thermos I had been anxiously fondling. Token said something more, and Craig looked sideways at him. I saw his amazing lips for the words, "Not sure yet, okay dude?"

Wracking my brain for what he could possibly be unsure about, I hardly even flinched when Clyde came in and shot me a hateful glare. The bell rang just before the chance of Craig having gotten AIDS from me could sink in. Mr. Takamiya stood in front of the class, and wrote in large letters on the chalkboard, "TRUST."

The classroom let out a heavy sigh in unison, several people groaning in addition, and heads slammed down onto desks exasperatedly.

"Can somebody tell me what 'trust' is?" our teacher asked, glancing briefly at me. I shrieked, but quickly covered my mouth with both hands, unwilling to draw unnecessary attention to myself. "Yes, Token."

"Trust is a firm belief or confidence in the honesty, integrity, reliability, justice, (etcetera) of another person or object," the brilliant boy answered dutifully.

"It certainly is," Mr. Takamiya agreed, nodding. "Anyone else want to add to that? Kyle."

Putting his raised hand down, the redhead answered, "It's having vast amounts of faith in somebody – being able to rely on them." He peeked sideways out the frosted window, as if suddenly distracted.

"Good." Mr. Takamiya leaned casually against the blackboard, folding his arms in front lf his broad chest. "Now can anyone tell me what trust _means?_"

Hesitant silence filled my ears, the sound of overachievers wanting to tell him what he wanted to hear and everybody else pondering over the difference in the questions. My heart sped up dangerously, like it had before. Gripping at the space and wrinkling my cotton shirt, I had to force myself to calm down and think about what he'd asked.

What does trust… _mean?_

"It means not giving up on somebody, even when all they seem to do lately is let you down."

Suppressing a gasp, I whirled in my seat to see Wendy Testaburger eying Token at the front of the room. The mild boy returned her gaze guiltily, frowning slightly. A part of me was curious as to what was going on between them.

"It means you could follow someone anywhere…" Butters spoke up, facing his hooded counterpart. "Come Hell or high water." Kenny's cheeks flushed, an unusual thing for him, and I felt a warm relief for the two of them.

"It means… it means giving someone, _ngh_, a second chance."

Once again, the room fell dead silent. All heads swerved in my direction, eyes questioning and astonished. It took me a moment to realize it was _me_ who'd said that. "OH GOD! You're all _staring_ at me again!" I couldn't meet Craig's sapphire orbs.

"Go on, Tweek," Mr. Takamiya encouraged kindly.

"_Ngh_, it means letting someone try changing when all they used to do was torture you," I ineptly elaborated, knowing my phrasing made no sense. "It means… waiting as long as it takes to be important to somebody," I added in an inaudible whisper, hanging my head in embarrassment, feeling stupid for having even said it. I was a little proud of myself, though – I hadn't screwed up the last sentence! But who was I kidding? How did _I_ know I was important to him?

"Trust means hoping they'll understand when the reasons are set in front of them," Craig murmured into the hush, gazing pointedly at his brunette friend, who scowled. "And trust… is hoping they'll forgive you," he went on to say, his eyes meeting mine after a moment.

My whole thin body froze, trapped in the blunt sincerity of his voice. I couldn't even bring myself to deny the apology this time, because... he… _meant_ it.

"Trust means not ditching your best friend for some kid that shouldn't even _matter_," Clyde managed to bite, after some deliberation. His heat was for me, and even though I knew I deserved the burn, it hurt, and I shut my eyes at the degradation.

"Trust means remembering your priorities – _and_ respecting a change in the priorities of somebody you care about," Kenny threw in, frowning disapprovingly at the ticked-off ladies' man. "It means remembering other people can be important without _you_ losing any of _your_ relevance to someone."

"Yeah," agreed Butters good-naturedly.

"Trust means having patience when somebody gets a little out-of-character for awhile," Token offered.

Clyde was speechless, blanched and looking convicted of moral villainy. It was then that I realized… everybody was on our side. Clyde was the only one who didn't want Craig to stop being my personal Hell. I let myself smile a tiny bit.

"Obviously I'm not in on something here," Mr. Takamiya announced loudly, reminding us of his presence, "but while I am extremely curious, we must move on." The tension in the atmosphere slowly dissolved, and as the teacher moved to add a word to the board, my classmates moved to face him, diverting their attention appropriately. Craig's gorgeous blue eyes lingered on my small smile before he, too, turned to see "GAMES" written under "TRUST." Again people groaned.

"Yup. I said they'd happen, didn't I?" Mr. Takamiya remarked bemusedly. "Now when I call your name, get with your designated group. Group one: Token, Rebecca, Kevin, Kyle, and Butters. Group two: Kenny, Wendy, Craig—" I unconsciously sucked in a breath, seeing Craig stiffen with the same anticipation. "—Tweek—" I let out the air in my lungs. "—And Clyde."

Squeaking, I cringed. This would _not_ end well! Sweet Jesus!

-

"Kenny, how about you go first," Wendy suggested, perfectly aware of the conflict between the rest of us. We nodded in agreement, and made a circle around the grinning blonde, putting our arms up at our shoulders as he crossed his in front of his chest, instantly making me think of corpses; I vaguely wondered when it was that Kenny last died. He closed his eyes and fell sideways.

Craig caught him, gently pushing him to Wendy, who sent him to me – I almost panicked about dropping him (nearly doing so in the process), but successfully nudged his lanky frame towards Clyde, who pushed him to Wendy, and so on. It wasn't too difficult, even though it was _so much pressure_, and Kenny giggled.

"I _like_ having so many hands on me at once!" he commented smoothly, chuckling when Wendy gave him an extra hard shove to Craig, who caught him easily and rolled his eyes.

We did Wendy next, with me fretting incessantly over trying not to accidentally touch her chest, even though she had it covered. What if I brushed it unintentionally, and she blew up?? She would be angry and offended, and she'd yell at me, and I'd go deaf – OH JESUS – and I'd get killed by a car I didn't hear coming!

"Wanna go next, Tweek?" a quiet, soothing voice asked.

"JESUS CHRIST!" I yelped, coming out of my paranoid thoughts momentarily.

Craig blinked, otherwise unaffected. "Do you? You don't have to, we're just at a standstill right now."

"Do I, _ngh_, want to?" I echoed dumbly, quivering more intensely as all their eyes rested on me. "AUGH, too much _pressure!_" I strained, habitually grabbing fistfuls of my hair.

"Go on, it's kinda cool," Kenny assured me, putting his hands up and smiling kindly.

"What if somebody drops me??"

"Nobody's gonna drop you, Tweek," the raven-haired beauty said, giving Clyde a warning glower. "If they do, they might end up with a black eye or two."

"OH JESUS, please don't punch me, man!"

"I'm not talking about _you_," he clarified with a sigh, smirking slightly. I saw Clyde ball his hands into fists, and finally made the connection.

The hooded boy with a penchant for divine intervention stepped between them and grinned hugely at me. "Cross your arms in front of you," he instructed," Like – yeah, like that. Let's do this!" Our other group members surrounded me, and I knew my increasing self-consciousness was tingeing my cheeks hot pink. "Close your eyes…"

"Don't be afraid," Craig murmured, being the first to push me to somebody else.

It _did_ feel cool – I felt like a rag doll that could float on air, and an unfamiliar lightness lifted my nerves. Soon my natural trembling died down. For the first time in years, I felt safe with my eyes shut.

And then I started to fall.

My eyes flew open, but my muscles were too slow to respond, having relaxed for the first time in days. I was _paralyzed!_ The only sound I could make was a strangled cry, and I was absolutely certain I was going to crash and break my neck. As the floor grew closer to my face, I silently hoped I wouldn't leave too big a mess behind. But two strong hands grabbed my upper arms before I could meet the linoleum forcefully, and I was halted in mid-air.

"Clyde, you _sonuvabitch_," Craig growled, holding my currently trembling form upright. "You're fuckin' _asking for it_."

"Couldn't resist," the brunette tried to say snidely, but his voice held a nervous tenure that revealed his regret at causing his friend's anger.

I was terrified the gorgeous raven would lunge at Clyde in his fury, my legs wobbling pathetically underneath me. Yet despite my fear, Craig only angled me toward himself, expression flattening back to normal. "You didn't fall, but… Are you okay?" he questioned quietly.

Nodding feverishly, I tried to focus on his words rather than his cool hands through my flimsy sleeves. "I'm, _ngh_, okay!" My eyes wouldn't waver from his alluring azure orbs. "Please don't be, _ngh_, mad at him," I requested as softly as I could, glad we still had yet to make a scene. "He's just, _ngh_, confused, dude."

He stared at me, brow knit, probably wondering why I would defend Clyde when I was his target, and for once, I didn't avert my gaze. Looking above my head (being considerably taller than me), he glared at the brunette.

"You've had two warnings now."

And he left it at that.

* * *

**A/N** once again: Aw, Tweek! What you described as trust could also be defined as love! =3

I thought I'd stick more conflict in here. Or even more resolution, but I didn't. ._. I'm not sure if I feel unsatisfied or what. o3o

Tweek will sing next chapter! =D Tee hee.


	10. Nightmares

Oh my god, I have FANART. Dfokhneqbio;jbvdkpozuga3mb78q3bo;9yvhq2yf;onviuaqSQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! You don't EVEN KNOW how happy I was when I saw it on Christmas Eve. I _flipped_ shit. Seriously. I like, had a Tweek-esque spaz attack (only mine was of joy). It was SO AMAZING! It's still SO AMAZING! I ADORE YOU, ZEROMOTION! YOU CAN'T FATHOM HOW HAPPY YOUR PIECE MADE ME!! X333

Also, 87 REVIEWS, OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOD!! X3 =D

**A/N**: Ahem.

Tweek sings, ladies 'n gents. =3 Also, Hate Me © Blue October. No, this isn't even close to a songfic. Craig Mabbitt is lead vocals in Escape The Fate, Josh Groban is one of the world's greatest tenors (look him up, seriously X3), Jesse Lacey sings for Brand New, and Brandon Boyd is the lead for Incubus.

So, yeah, slightly depressing chapter (_I_ think), so please don't hate me if it's not what you expected. It's also my longest chapter (19.5 pages hand-written – yes, I handwrite my story first =3). I'm moving into the actual relationship stage now. Repeat: _moving into_. Here's some fluff for y'all. =D Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

_Craig's P.O.V._

Nightmares

Clyde wouldn't meet my gaze the rest of the period, and neither of us went in the middle for the trust game. I knew _I_ didn't exactly trust _him_ at the moment, and I even felt betrayed, as he apparently did, too. Mr. Takamiya had seen what happened, and pulled him aside for a mini-lecture – they were still talking when the bell rang for seventh.

"You have choir next, right?" I asked of the jittery blonde once we were in the hall, Kenny on the other side of him.

"Yeah," he quavered, glancing at the hooded boy next to him. "Why, _ngh?_ Does it matter??" His huge emerald eyes widened anxiously. "HOLY CHRIST, are you in my class?!" he blurted, turning to face me and bumping into Kenny in the process; he shrieked, whirling again and running into me instead. "GAH! Sor—"

"'S fine," I murmured, rolling my eyes and holding his shoulder steady before he could run into a water fountain. Kenny grinned in agreement, shrugging like, _What can you do?_ "Don't apologize. And no, I've never been in choir. I was just curious."

The thought of skipping English to follow him to choir that day didn't sound like a bad idea, though, and I found myself following the two blondes into the big, open choir room. Tweek didn't notice me enter, but Kenny raised an eyebrow disbelievingly at me, silently questioning my presence. Showing him my favorite finger, I sauntered toward the back of the tiered room, plopping onto the floor and leaning against the cold wall. The guys that came in and saw me looked both confused and nervous, and I knew they thought I was here to find something to mock them later with.

Ugh. Reputations, you know? I was a dick like that freshman year. Sophomore year I calmed down a bit, realizing insulting people just because I could wasn't actually all that fun anymore. By the time I'd turned sixteen, the only person I'd bullied was Tweek.

Wondering to myself why I only continued to bully _him_, my eyes found his chaotic hair, and I honed in on the sound of his voice as he and Kenny talked about a piece of music I'd never heard of before, probably because I don't know shit about choral music. But that's a little known fact about me – my hearing is immaculate. In fact, it was almost inhuman, since I could pick out certain sounds or voices specifically, when I wanted to. So chances are, if you say something and I ask "what," it's more likely that I'm skeptical than that I misheard or didn't hear you.

Kenny sang a note, in a… round sort of tone, and then Tweek matched it before going higher. My lungs emptied of air, and my heart thudded against my ribcage dangerously, only allowing me ragged breaths as I listened to the pair of them sing a few lines of a haunting melody in a minor key. He hardly trembled in his seat, his tenor clear and… clean. You'd think he'd do that wobbling thing with his voice like old people always do… what's it called?

"He has almost no vibrato. Weird, right?"

Startled, I blinked and frowned slightly, gazing up at the red-haired Jew with a quizzical expression. "Is that what it's called?" I mumbled in response.

"What're you doing here, Craig?" Kyle asked wearily, a folder under his arm dropping a sheet of paper. I bent sideways to pick it up, holding it above my head for him. "Thanks," he said. "Does he know you're in here?"

"I doubt it," I chuckled, with a shrug.

"Hm," Kyle hummed, watching Tweek and Kenny harmonize expertly. "Didn't think so. He'd be panicking." I had a good idea of why, but the temperamental guy explained himself. "He probably doesn't even know how much he freaks out about you. _You_ certainly don't."

Oh. That wasn't exactly what I was thinking. I was secretly flattered, and a bit amused, but concern lined my thoughts. How often did he hurt himself when I wasn't around?

"Anyway," Kyle began, interrupting my uncharacteristic worry. "We're about to start, and Sam will probably notice you're in here – you should sit in a section."

"Who?"

"Sam. The director. Sit in the, like…" He glanced around, looking for an empty seat. "Sit in the baritone section. You sound like a baritone. Can you sing?"

Sing? Me? I had no idea. Flipping him off, I stood and stepped over the chair, falling into it and giving the kid next to me a nonverbal "fuck you" as he eyed me unsurely. Kyle scooted past me and took a seat somewhere to my left, closer to Tweek and Kenny. He pulled something out of his backpack and handed it to Tweek. Tweek squeaked, thanking him profusely for returning his thermos to him. He had forgotten it on the bus the other day.

Now that I thought about it, the only person of the three that I would've been unsurprised to see in here was Kenny. Didn't he go to Romania or somewhere on a free ride for his singing when we were nine? But Kyle and Tweek… the thought never even crossed my mind. I wondered if Kyle was any good.

A tall man with a short haircut and stylish glasses sat down at the piano in the front of the room. He started playing some scales, and singing lowly. Soon everybody had stopped chatting and started singing the same thing. Following suit, I tried to figure out what exactly it was they were saying. It wasn't any real word or words, but more like articulated gibberish – not that it wasn't something I couldn't catch onto.

Hearing my voice in a sea of undoubtedly more skilled singers was bizarre – namely because I didn't stand out or sound like utter shit, like I thought I would. The sound coming out of my mouth reminded me of how much it changed since I was a kid. I used to be incredibly nasal, but now I was rougher, and while I wasn't… gravelly or anything, it occurred to me that I could probably pull off singing for a metal or alternative punk band. In fact, I reminded myself of Craig Mabbitt (what a coincidence). And while I was making comparisons, I picked out Kenny's voice and decided he could've been a teenaged Josh Groban, Kyle was a more controlled Jesse Lacey, and Tweek was a higher, younger Brandon Boyd. And that was just going up and down a scale.

The guy at the piano motioned in the air and cut us off. He shuffled some papers, and pushed his glasses further up onto his nose. "Now, for the duet, I want you two to sing out. It's so much more _powerful_ when we can _hear_ you guys!" he instructed to the ivory keys before him, and some people shifted to the edge of their seats, sitting up straighter. I copied the movements, starting to genuinely enjoy myself, already amused by the seriousness in the room. "Here are your notes…" He played four notes on the piano, and then went on. "I'll give you a two bar intro. Gentlemen… One two, _two_ two—"

Nearly everyone in the room started a low, quiet, "Da da dum, da-da-da da dum," repetition, and I found a place in the sound, getting the feeling this wasn't an ancient religious piece, which was the bulk of the choral music I'd actually heard. There was a build in the volume, and I noticed neither of my increasingly interfering blondes were singing. A small smile shaped itself into my verbatim, and I watched with an almost sickening eagerness as they simultaneously took a breath.

"_I have to block out thoughts of you so I don't lose my head_," they sang in flawless harmony. "_They crawl in like a cockroach, leavin' babies in my bed; dropping little reels of tape, to remind me that I'm alone; playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home_."

My jaw was stuck hanging open, my eyes locked Tweek's calmer form, fascinated with his steady, beautiful voice and its perfect fit with Kenny's professional sound. It wasn't until they reached the chorus that I finally recognized the song, and even then, I was ridiculously distracted.

"_Hate me today_," the pair belted out, a swell growing in the background singers and piano. "_Hate me tomorrow. Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you. Hate me in ways, yeah ways hard to swallow. Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you_."

For some reason, I felt a hollowness empty in my chest, and a sense of responsibility made me gaze down at my hands. It wasn't the first time I asked myself… Why doesn't he hate me? Why doesn't _he_ hate _me_ for all the things I _did_ do? I let myself deliberate on masochism for possibly the third time.

Before I had time to pull myself out of my diversion, the song faded to a close, and I blinked. Again before my consciousness had registered the situation, I was applauding, a lone audience member in the midst of the performers.

Tweek shrieked, leaping in his seat and turning wildly to find the source of the clapping. Everybody else turned to me, too, brows furrowed with distrust and skepticism. The director glanced up at me, looking dazed. I stood, assuming it was only appropriate; facing the once more quivering coffee fiend and addressing him directly, I ignored Kenny's smug grin.

"That… was fucking amazing," I stated evenly, pausing for dramatic emphasis. "I should come in here more often."

"Who are you?" the man behind the piano questioned in a polite tone. I flipped him off, and he sighed tiredly. "Tucker. Right, well, you're welcome to sit in anytime you like. As long as you don't have another class…" Like I would confess to skipping English. Yeah right. "What enticed you here today?"

"Tweek," I answered flatly. It was the truth, and my crystal blue eyes never left the smaller, twitchy kid's emerald orbs, and he let out a panicked "ACK!" when I said his name. Smirking slightly at his vibrant blush, I asked the director, "Sam, right?" Without waiting for confirmation on his name, I went on, vaguely wondering if I got his name right. "When's the next concert again?"

"Next Thursday," he responded professionally. "It's a three dollar suggested donation to come. We'd love it if you did." He smiled as though he actually would, and wasn't just making a sales pitch. I could see why Tweek would take this class and even go out for a solo – this guy was intense, but just the kind of teacher he needed. Some part of me wanted him to be my English teacher. I can't _stand_ Garrison. This made my smirk widen.

"I'm there."

-

The next hour went by in a disconcerting flash, and I'd gotten home with a spastic caffeine addict on my mind, having just sat and spoken with the kid. He'd been nervous the rest of his choir period, shivering constantly and continuously glancing over at me. Again "cute" and "adorable" hovered around the very thought of him. I just hoped I wasn't flushing as much as he had been, pushing my house key into the deadbolt on our front door, recalling fondly the way he'd apologized profusely on the bus for not noticing me earlier in his class, after which I scolded him for more unnecessary "sorry's." When I reached to ruffle his hair, and he whimpered, flinching, I congratulated him once more on an excellent job singing "Hate Me." He seemed to melt under my cold hand, his terminally worried expression relaxing, too, yanking on my goddamned heartstrings again.

Fuck.

It hit me as I peeled my shoes off, tossing them next to my little sister's girly flats. But it made no _sense_, and I threw my messenger bag on the couch in aggravation, standing stiffly in the front hall.

I do _not_ have a stupid-ass _crush_ on Tweek fucking Tweak. I don't. That's so completely _ludicrous_. Where the fuck did it _come_ from?! I used to _hate_ the guy! At least, I _thought_ I did. He annoyed me the most, out of _everyone_ (except maybe Cartman), since the third grade. So why the hell would I suddenly like him '_like that_,' to use an archaic term. Shit, he's the kid whose life I _ruined_. How could I even _dare_ to like him?

"GODDAMMIT!" I raged in my confused frustration. It's like I'd already admitted it – already _accepted_ it! It's one thing to question my sexuality, it's another to finally and properly have someone to question it _with_. As if that wasn't what I was doing earlier. As if I was the first person to ever go through this sort of thing.

Clenching and unclenching my fists repeatedly, I took a deep, weary breath and whirled to stalk up to my bedroom when I nearly ran into my sister, who'd somehow appeared out of nowhere without making a sound. I froze, glaring down my nose at her. I so didn't have the endurance for her endless PMS-ing right now. "When'd _you_ get here?" I growled impatiently.

"I've _been_ here, Craig," she snapped tightly, flicking me off before putting her hands on her small hips. "What are you so upset about?" she asked with less edge, as though concerned.

A quick look downward told me she _had_ been here, and I'd only been too preoccupied to notice. Her shoes and bag were on the floor, where I'd parked my own automatically. Brilliant, Craig, you're a bloody _genius_. "Nothing," I answered dismissively, annoyed to recall Clyde's use of the same question.

Aw, shit. Clyde. I'd better talk to that dumbass.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself, heaving a sigh and walking around my freakishly adorable sibling. "I gotta go, Ruby."

"Craig?"

The way she said it made me pause, and I looked back at her. "Yeah?"

"…I'm sorry I'm such a bitch all the time, and I hope whatever you're troubled over stops sucking soon," she said quickly, pressing her lips together indignantly. "I don't hate you," she added stiffly.

I blinked. What brought this on? "Uh. Okay," I murmured, smirking despite my mood. "Love you, too…" Turning to the door and tapping my shoes on all the way, I reached for the handle; I had to leap back as the heavy wood swung itself open first. I tensed as my father brought his bulky self through the threshold, throwing his briefcase on the nule post and glancing sideways at me. "Hi, dad," I defiantly said, instinctively taking an extra step away. "I was just—"

"I don't give a _shit_ 'bout what you're doing," the grudging man barked, facing me full on and sneering. "Get out of my _sight_, boy," he ground out through his screwy teeth.

"—leaving," I finished flatly, putting my hands in my pockets after giving him the finger.

"Don't you flip me off, punk!" he raged, returning the gesture and sending the back of his free hand across my face before I could skirt around his overbearing form. A sting on my skin let me know his nails left a mark. "Get the _hell_ outta my sight before I fucking _kill_ you, you little _shit!_"

Ducking under a swing of his fist, I practically launched myself out the open door, taking off at a run down the icy sidewalk, my dad's screams for me seeming distant and muted by the white and dirtied snow surrounding me.

-

Stopping at the front walk of a familiar house, I allowed myself to lean into my knees to catch my breath, panting. Twelve blocks was hard to run when I hadn't exercised in a week. Standing up straight and carefully reaching to my face, I sucked in a quick breath as another sharp sting shot all across my cheek, tender from my father's angry slap. When I pulled my fingers back, I saw a small smear of red. Well, there goes the hope of it remaining unobvious.

"Dude. What happened?"

Snapping my head in the house's direction, I saw my best friend and semi-enemy watching from his front step, an eyebrow risen in question. When I didn't do anything other than automatically flip him off, Clyde strode up to me. "Your dad?" he guessed, quietly for him.

I nodded, cursing the injury and avoiding his hazel gaze with both shame and childish fury. Of course I was still mad at him for being a total asshole about everything, but this wasn't the first time I'd showed up at his house after a fight with my hateful father, however often they were one-sided. The friendship we had was still strong enough for us to temporarily forget the conflict of the day and for the brunette to invite me inside.

No one else was home yet, so we were left to our own devices, Clyde leading me upstairs to the room I'd visited countless times in the years we'd known each other. He dumped himself onto his bed, and I took my usual place on his desk chair, habitually swiveling around once before resting my elbows on my knees and hanging my head almost guiltily. Here we were, in a warm, comfortable room in an unnatural, atypical awkward silence, our personal choices of the day strangling all means of communication and leaving us to our thoughts. Normally, silence doesn't bother me – I'm not the kind who needs to fill every silence with desperate small talk – but this particular one was starting to grate on my already faltering forbearance. Just as I opened my mouth, Clyde beat me to the punch.

"Are you gay??" he blurted, turning his naïve hazel gaze to my normally indifferent blue one, challenge and betrayal in his face and tone.

I blinked, the question hitting me like a ton of bricks. Trying to come up with a decent response proved extremely difficult, seeing as I wasn't so sure myself. "What are you _talking_ about, Clyde?" I sidestepped, evading the unanswerable.

Frowning as though offended, the headstrong brunette scoffed. "I'm _talkin'_ 'bout you 'n Spaz—" My severe glare and small snarl accompanying it caused him to correct his mistake before he could finish making it. "You 'n Tweek," he tried again. "I mean, is he bending over for you or something?? Is that why you're not rippin' on him anymore?" he interrogated, accusatory. But I could sense the authentic belief, concern, and confidence in his… _decision_. Where did he get off on asking me that?

"Am I bangin' _you_?" I retaliated without missing a beat.

Clyde was definitely thrown, blinking rapidly and stumbling over his words. "W-what? What the fuck?"

"I don't rip on _you_, do I? As far as _I_ know, you're not 'bending over' for me." Staring skeptically as my currently embarrassed friend gawked at me, I added, "Since that's what you're implying."

"That – that's not what I meant!" he protested.

Showing him my favorite finger, I bluntly said, "Yeah it is."

His frown deepened, and we competed in a classic game of Staring Contest. However, his attempt to beat me was futile, because I was well practiced in the art of blank and lasting stares. He soon became weary, turning away in frustration. I sighed.

"Do you actually want to know _why_ I decided Tweek's not gonna be a victim anymore?" I wondered quietly, watching him neutrally.

"I wanna know why you suddenly decided to give two shits about him!"

Waiting for him to actually meet my eyes, I answered at last. "…I don't know," I murmured tensely, realizing that was as honest I could yet get, clasping my hands together tightly, riled with aggravation.

He stared again, trying to read my empty expression. Thing is, Clyde was never very good at analyzing people to begin with, and on top of that, there was nothing to find anyway. I wasn't lying when I told him I didn't know what I was thinking. What added to the suck-factor was that he genuinely wanted to know this time, and wasn't just throwing his confused frustration around like an idiot.

"All I know is," I started, having no idea as to what I was in fact going to say. "…I can't stand to see him hurt anymore." Slowly, I raised my face to meet his across the gap of still air between us. "It pisses me off. It's almost like I'm…" What was the word? "I'm possessive of him now, and maybe that stems from being his primary bully for all these years, but – whenever I see someone look at him with the same disgust and hate I once had for him, I want to knock their goddamned head off." Without thinking, I had swiped my hand down my face tiredly, but come away with more blood on my hand. Startled, I breathed, "Holy shit!"

"I'll get a washcloth," Clyde muttered, leaving and returning just as fast with a damp rag, offering it to me and digging around in his desk drawer for something. Putting the cloth to the cut on my face, I wiped the excess blood away. My best friend nudged my shoulder, handing me a band-aid.

"There's so much more to him than those twitches and spaz attacks, dude. I – I see it now. Can't you tell he's got so much going on in that messy blonde head of his?" I asked incredulously, blindly applying the bandage to my cheek.

"Uh, not really," he muttered honestly. Sitting back down on his bed.

"He's oblivious to the things that could _actually_ hurt him, and more often than not, he injures himself. For some reason – for some reason, it hurts me, too, when he gets hurt." That _totally_ didn't sound gay. Goddammit. "Why do you _care_, dude?" I sighed.

My best friend watched me unsurely, looking put out and… sad? The word didn't fit in a sentence involving Clyde Donovan. What the fuck was he thinking about?

"Dude," he began, "it's great that you're not a huge dick anymore – well, you're _less_ of a dick, anyway – but you're more than just _different_, man! You've changed – you're _changing_. And it's freaking me out!" He stood indignantly, the frown on his lips almost a pout. "It really came outta nowhere, and you're ignoring me more! Why d'ya hafta _ignore_ me? I'm your fucking _best friend!_"

His outburst caused a scowl to don my own lips. He was _definitely_ pouting now. "Clyde, dude – grow up!" I chided, using my holier-than-thou voice. "I'm not _trying_ to ignore you! You're not helping by being a royal _prick_, though, that's for sure."

"I don't wanna be replaced, man!"

"You're NOT being REPLACED!"

Puffing out his chest, Clyde stood his ground defiantly, as though I was a new challenger in the battle arena. "No, I guess I wouldn't be, since you aren't _dating_ anyone," he ventured at last, expression shifting from insulted to arrogant. Oh great.

"What are you on about _now?_" I groaned, falling back heavily in my seat and closing my eyes. This was getting pretty old _very_ fast.

"Craig," he stated, sounding final. "_You_ don't see it?" he criticized, eying me suspiciously. "You're looking for what to call it?" he went on meaningfully. I blinked. "Craig – man, you're in _love!_"

I blinked again.

"Excuse me?" I exaggerated, raising an eyebrow in amused disbelief. "You think I'm _what?_"

"Dude, I've seen it, and you're _definitely_ in love," he repeated, eyes wide, a grin growing on his lips. "Heh. You're blushing."

Well if I wasn't before, I certainly was now. Scowling, I stood quickly, balling up my fists. "Where do you get off on saying something like that?" I growled darkly, working mostly off shock rather than true heat. "You're insane," I accused coldly.

Clyde's regular dopey smile came back into place, and I couldn't help but quell a little at the sight of it. "You are!" he giggled. "That's fuckin' _amazing!_ Why didn't I see it before?" he continued, seemingly to himself.

"It's been _two days_!" I shouted, arguing without incentive. "Two days," I emphasized, "since I… _changed!_"

Clyde shrugged, nonchalant. I swear, that kid's more bipolar than Ruby. "Romeo and Juliet fell in love across a crowded room," he cited, making use of what little he paid attention to in English class.

"He's a _guy!_"

He grinned hugely, reminding me of Kenny. "I never said _who_."

I snarled, moving to get up. "This isn't Shakespeare," I pointed out flatly, planting myself in front of him. He blanched slightly, stepping back. "In case you haven't noticed."

"So which one of you 's the chick, then?" he threw out mischievously.

"Clyde," I ground out, losing my patience.

Waving his hands in front of him, he edged around me. "Well, _you're_ not, I mean, _obviously_."

A dramatic, weary, relieved, and exasperated sigh escaped from between my lips, and I even chuckled, shaking my head. "Suddenly you're not angry anymore?" I asked him, unconvinced and taking the chance to switch subjects. "What changed your mind?"

"Well," he started, but stopped, grimacing and furrowing his brow. "Well… how can I be mad at my best friend if he's only in love?" he purred, smirking triumphantly.

_Love?_

Holy fuck. Holy FUCK. It _just fucking hit me_.

Was I actually in love with a clumsy, paranoid coffee addict with untamable golden locks and fantastic, enormous emerald eyes? Did I really want a kid with a tendency towards panicked verbatim and acquiring head injuries? Was I infatuated with a small boy that trembled constantly and had warm, elegant, cut-up hands?

The answer was… yes.

I, Craig Tucker was somehow – in accordance with every single thing that's been out of whack in my world lately – in love with Tweek Tweak.

What. The fuck.

"_Shiiit_," I moaned, collapsing into my chair and feeling my veins buzz with new energy.

"Oh, and I don't care that you're a fag," Clyde assured me smugly.

Groaning, I gave him a light sock in the gut, on principle.

-

That night, Clyde offered to let me crash at his place, and I readily accepted. With my head running in circles like it was, my libido on its heels, how was I supposed to deal with dad again? My mom would get my text and breathe easy while I slept on the couch in my best friend's basement. Still wide-awake, I put my leftover energy into assessing myself for the second time.

One: I decided I was going to be Tweek's guardian. Fuck the consequences.

Two: I liked guys. It was official. It also didn't pose any immediate threat to any aspect of my life… unless you count—

Three: I might've had a small crush on Tweek. Maybe.

"Goddammit," I muttered into the pillow Clyde's mom had provided for me. "God_dammit_."

It was those eyes. Those bloody huge bright green eyes of his. You could see every moment of pain he'd ever experienced, every paranoid thought flickered across his glistening irises, his self-loathing proved all the more heartrending when you looked into them. It was from his eyes that the mind-numbing fear he constantly felt struck, stabbing me in the chest each time we locked gazes. It was the distrust and eagerness to trust wrapped in one solitary glance.

Or maybe it was the twitching. Sure, it used to piss me off to no end, but now that I really thought about it, now that I wanted to put a label on it, it's… cute. God, that word _again!_ But it is. The incessant quivering, and even hid screwy speech mannerisms were fucking _adorable_. How could I ever have thought they were annoying? What a waste of time. but three days ago, I wouldn't have even let myself get within thirty feet of calling Tweek 'cute.' It just wouldn't have happened.

Not to mention he looks _damned_ good with a thermos in his hands, and the skewed button-down is somewhat… endearing? Great, I sound like a fucking girl. But the trembling, and the blushing – oh god. The _blushing_. Even when I was abusing the guy at every turn, that hot pink or vibrant crimson would give me a rush. At the time, I would've dismissed it as sadistic inclination… which I guess it still is. Now I can see it as… well, more than just that. Jesus Christ, now that I've tried analyzing it, I'm going to _be turned on_ next time I see it.

AW SHIT. Now I've jinxed myself.

That was my last conscious thought before I slipped into a mostly dreamless sleep.

-

It's bright. The kind of bright that should blind me, but isn't. I can't tell where it's coming from – there's no specific source, the light just… surrounds me. It's white, in case you haven't yet figured that out, the same white falling outside in the physical world. But this is the dream world, so the snowy white is more…

Pure.

_Remind you of anyone?_

"Who said that?" my voice demands of the stark white.

_Well, he's not exactly_ pure, _but you get my drift_.

"Who SAID THAT?!" I yell, temper surfacing.

_Tsk, tsk. Isn't it_ obvious? _Who the hell else fucks with your dreams?_

"Damien," I growl warningly. "What's going on?"

_I want to show you something, Craig._

Suddenly, the light warps, and my limbs feel as though they're being torn from my body. I scream in agony, a powerful spike of pain injecting itself directly through my forehead. The pristine white siphons away, leaving behind a view of Stark's Pond bathed in a delicate moonlight uncharacteristic of South Park. Someone sits at a bench in front of the water, staring down at it. He's alone, this someone with a familiar mess of blonde hair atop a trembling head.

"Tweek," I call out thoughtlessly.

_He can't see or hear you_, Damien informs me, sounding a bit remorseful. _This isn't like sharing a dream – that's easier. That's why it hurt to get you here, Craig. You're in _his_ dreams, as an observer._

I want so badly to see his face, a strange panic pumping in my blood. Shifting my non-body, I see his hands stiffly grasping an empty coffee mug between them, his eyes wide. He's biting his lip again, and I roll my eyes, relieved. He's okay.

"You're nothing to him."

"ACK!" Tweek jumps, staring up at the intruder with absolute horror written in his humongous emerald orbs; I whirl around as well, startled. "D-dad??"

"He's just fucking with you. Why would he care about _you_?" the man with an ordinary face scoffs, and while I'm not exactly sure what was happening, I'm positive I want to punch "dad's" lights out. "No one cares about twitchy _idiots_ with caffeine dependencies!" he laughs cruelly, his face transforming into something unearthly – something demonic.

Tweek shrieks, leaping off the bench and scrambling to get behind it, whimpering with fear. At first, all I can do is watch in shocked awe, my mouth agape, but when I come to my senses, I stand protectively in front of Tweek, clenching my fists and glaring icily at the man. The transformed man walks right through me, and I feel nauseous.

_You're an_ observer, _Craig. I told you that. You can't do anything here._

"He – he promised he wouldn't let me get hurt!" the small coffee fiend insists, not sounding too convinced with his own argument. "He even, _ngh_, got mad at his best friend! GAH!"

More recognizable people appear, their visages not unnatural – I get the sickening feeling that it's only a matter of time, however, and tense with each addition to Mr. Tweak's gang.

"Oh, Tweek," says Mr. Garrison, approaching said teen at a mockingly leisurely pace. "_Everybody's_ screwing with you! D'you _really_ thaynk even _Kinny_ genuinely _likes_ you? Don't make me laugh, boy!" He laughs anyway.

"We've told the FBI and the KGB about you already," says a sinister Stan, materializing behind the terrified boy and making him cry out in shock, whipping around to face him. Looming over his thin build, he adds, "They're _very_ interested in you."

"And it's all thanks to _me_."

My breath hitches in my throat, and suddenly I wish I could kill myself. No, scratch that – I wish I could kill the me that stood before Tweek, grinning evilly and standing like a cocky film star, downright atrocious words spilling out of not-my mouth.

Tweek screams again, whirling around to face not-me instead, the mug falling to the ground as he brings his arms up to his chest defensively. The evil Stan turns into an evil Kenny, and he seizes the smaller boy's forearms, holding him still even as he struggles frantically to escape, crying out repeatedly. I launch myself at the anti-Kenny, diving right through him; I forgot that I was completely ineffectual, and as I roll to a stop, I have to lift myself to my feet with a furious heart and a snarl once again on my lips.

_I'm sorry,_ Damien echoes, sincere. _It's going to take a bit more than that to materialize here…_

The evil me leans into the fragile boy, making him flinch and recoil as he closes his tell-all eyes and clamps onto his bottom lip with his teeth. "_I _told them, because I _hate_ you. Said how useful your fucked-up brain would be for their torture research," not-me chuckles, grabbing the tiny blonde's chin and forcing him to face not-me. "They especially liked it when they heard you like the guy who tormented you for years on end – masochistic minds were their _favorite_, they said."

"AUGH, JESUS CHRIST! I'm a masochist!"

Everybody laughs, and their faces morph, the same way his father's did. When the anti-me looks at Tweek again, the blonde shrieks, tearing away from the evil Kenny's grasp and bolting for the trees. The demonic torturers glide slowly across the snowy grass, laughter peeling through the silence. I follow after Tweek as fast as I can, ghosting through the monstrous horde and quickly catching up to Tweek.

The poor kid had fallen to his knees in front of a fat tree, fists above his head on the trunk, pounding on the bark. He had his head down, and for a moment, I think h's going to scream.

"Not even, _ngh_, in my _dreams_," he quavers, strained more than usual. "Not even in my stupid, _ngh_, DREAMS! GAH!"

I kneel, my chest hollow and my mouth dry. The snow wasn't cold – this was a dream after all – but I still feel numb and guilty. Very guilty. I saw a combination of his many fears play out in front of me, and even though they involved false notions of myself, I didn't – _couldn't_ – do anything to stop them.

Yet this is all about me, isn't it?

"God, _ngh_, just kill me now," he chokes, and I finally see the tears I knew were there. "Make everything, _ngh_, easier for everybody! Craig won't hafta – GAH! – _deal_ with me anymore, mom 'n dad can run the, _ngh_, shop in peace, and I won't ruin anyone's, _ngh_, day anymore, either."

Fuck. Way to break my heart, kid. Ain't easy to do.

The demon townspeople arrive, grinning with slime dripping from their sharpened teeth, watching their victim with yellow, snake-like eyes. They guffaw amongst themselves, making to mock Tweek behind his back as well as to his face. Tweek trembles with widened eyes on the ground. Like he doesn't get enough of that when he's awake. He had to get it even when he managed to fall asleep? The guy _lives_ abuse, 24/7!

"Whatsa matter, Tweek?" coos the not-me. Not-Clyde joins him by his side. "Can't handle the _truth_?" he laughs, suddenly behind him, hoisting the small boy to his feet with a fistful of his chaotic hair. Tweek cries out in pain and freight, treacherous tears streaming down his beautiful face.

Beautiful.

It hit. At last. I thought he was beautiful.

In every way.

Oh. My. Motherfucking god.

"What _truth?_"

_Well I'll be damned,_ Damien chuckles.

The scene seems to freeze. Not-me looks over at me, thrown off his game. I'm not supposed to be here, I'm fucking with the order of things in Tweek's dream world – _he_ was supposed to be Craig. What is another Craig doing here?

Well, you can't beat the real thing, can you?

I stand, locking gazes with a bewildered Tweek, addressing the army of monstrous townspeople with renewing vigor. "Get out of here," I quietly command. "Go away."

The demonic creatures flicker, a VHS on pause, their world interrupted by a confident outsider. The not-me twitches, bearing his teeth in animalistic territorialism.

"And _never_ come BACK," I low bitingly.

Releasing the blonde in his hand, the anti-me dissolves with a hiss into the temperature-free air. As soon as he vanishes, the other nightmarish apparitions fade, leaving me alone with a shaky coffee addict in the potentially chilly night.

Tweek stands unsteadily, hunched forward, clasping at his golden locks and chewing his bottom lip. We remain silent for a moment, and I listen to his erratic breathing. Taking a step closer, I begin cautiously reaching out to him.

"Tweek, I—" I start, only to be interrupted almost immediately.

"SWEET TAP-DANCING BABY JESUS, _NO!_" he screeches, leaping away and backing into a tree. "No! _Ngh_, that's not _fair_!"

I blink, fixing him with an unsure stare. "What's not?"

"There can't be a, _ngh_, heroic Craig! Craig has to, _ngh_, hate me! Cuz it would make me _happy_, and, _ngh_, I'm not supposed to be _happy!_" he explains hastily, screwing up his expression in anguish. "If I were to, _ngh_, be _happy_—OH JESUS! The universe would IMPLODE! AUGH, IT'S ALL MY FAULT!"

FUCK, my chest hurts! "Then what are you… allowed to be?" I can't help but ask, retracting my arm the slightest bit.

"_Ngh_, I – I…!" He pauses, panting and burning bright red. "Sad!" he blurts. "Broken, small, and… _ngh_, and…!" His eyes dart across the snow at his feet, searching for whatever he was going to say next. "I have to be everybody's, _ngh_, entertainment!" he decides.

"Why?"

I confused him. He makes an odd, strangled noise before answering. "Because – GAH! It's what I'm good at!"

All the words in the dictionary can't describe what I'm thinking. I'd like to simply give the excuse of, "you wouldn't understand," but you probably would, because goddammit – you'd better be thinking the exactly the same things I am.

"Tweek, lookit me."

Whimpering, he casts his gaze upward to mine, squeaking in surprise as he finds out I'm only a foot away now. At a painstakingly slow pace, I carefully reach with both hands and gently take hold of his face. His shaking intensifies, and his lip quivers before he bites down on it.

"You're allowed to be _happy_, Tweek," I murmur, forcing my expression to soften so it won't scare him. Bringing him closer as gently as I could, I wrap my arms around his tiny frame, imagining I could make him a protective shell. He stiffens momentarily, but begins to relax as I softly ease his head to my shoulder, similar to the way I held him on the floor in the nurse's office. "Don't believe anyone who tells you otherwise," I add firmly, resting my chin on his unruly entanglement of hair.

"This is the best, _ngh_, dream I've, _ngh_, had in years," he mumbles into my coat, hesitantly putting his arms around my waist, as if waiting to be pushed away. I suspect people pushed him away a lot, dream world or not. I wonder if he would still consider this his "best dream" even if I _did_ push him away. Not that I'm even considering it. But the notion that it probably still _would_ be makes my chest ache more. "I wish, _ngh_…"

"What do you wish?"

"AUGH!" His cry is muffled by my outerwear. "I wish this, _ngh,_ was real," he whispers, giving me a weak squeeze. My heart nearly ceases beating. "Cuz, _ngh_, I… want to be happy." His voice breaks on the last word, and he nuzzles closer into me, falling slightly as his weakened knees give in. I catch him effortlessly, and he grasps at my coat, close to breaking down. I'm at a loss for words as he begins literally crying on my shoulder.

Does this mean what I think it means?

As I ease us to the ground, carefully hoisting him into my lap, I recall what the evil me had been saying, trying to destroy the damaged boy in my arms. '_They especially liked it when they heard you like the guy who tormented you for years on end…_' This kid I'm holding is the kid that I made it my _life_ to abuse for eight years. This is the boy I shoved, kicked, spat on, insulted, tripped, threw food at, stole coffee from… Obviously I'm one of the benefactors to his damage. If anything, it's all my doing. Everything he's been through since third grade is all my fault.

And he _likes_ me? Maybe he _is_ a little masochistic. But I can't say I'm not a little sadistic…

"Just cuz you're asleep, doesn't mean this isn't real," I quietly inform him, feeling my heart lurch at the weird notions going through my head. I swear, if Damien is screwing around right now… not even his dad could save him from the Hell he'll be in.

"What?" he squeaks, peeking up at me through damp eyes.

"Do you always have nightmares?" I ask, catching myself.

"_Hrgck_, yeah. Pretty, _ngh_, much," he murmurs, calming down.

"Tweek."

"ACK! Y-yes?"

"They're not coming back. Dream peacefully, okay?"

He doesn't answer, and suddenly I'm on the couch in Clyde's basement, an obnoxious buzzing filling my ears in place of his response.

-

I stared up at the ceiling for a while, deciding what to do. Would he even remember? Did he ever realize I wasn't just a figment of his tortured, overactive imagination? Did Damien plan this, and if so, do I kill him now or later? What would Kenny say? Or better yet…

What would Kenny _do?_

Blinking, I reached blindly for my cell phone, turning off the alarm and searching for a number I was unlikely to have. To my surprise, I found it. The only problem now was—

WHAT the FUCK am I _doing?_ No matter what I do, Kenny will laugh, Damien will stake credit, and Tweek will have a panic attack and spaz out. What did I even _want_? That was the _real_ dilemma. As far as I knew, the twitchy blonde was definitely in the equation. I couldn't make excuses anymore… but I _could_ try and make him mine. Slowly. I'll take it slow.

…Better check with Kenny, though, just in case.

* * *

**A/N II**: OKAY, OKAY, I _know_ the dream world sequence sucked ass, but I was writing at two in the morning, and my brain was fried, and I TOTALLY don't have the energy to make it NOT suck. TT_TT I'm sorry! D=

And I simply must say: YOU ALL ARE AMAZING, AND I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR WONDERFUL REVIEWS, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!


	11. Hero

**A/N**: Oh my god, you guys. I. ADORE. You all. 121 reviews?? Maybe it's a little ridiculous, but when I read them all, I was _so happy._ I was almost as ecstatic as I was when I saw zeromotion's FanArt (and then she offered to do more, and I just about _died_). And then I got FanArt from turtlepaw88 and Raspberry-icecream, too, and I CAME SO HARD. Seriously, guys, I get SO EXCITED over reviews from complete strangers for a fic I started on a whim for a friend who _still needs to read it_. =_=' OH, the _humanity!_ TT_TT XD =3

Anyway, while still on my happy-high, I will start this chapter, and tried to keep Craig in character, even though the big shift is coming in... =D

Also, **DEDIMACTIONS**! To everybody who reviewed; you guys MADE MY YEAR! X3

Plus also: WWKD? (ftw! X3)

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

_Tweek's P.O.V._

Hero

Jerking awake, I feared my heart would leap out of my ribcage, beating the way it was. Thankfully, I hadn't screamed, since I normally would have, so I was less worried to have woken my parents than I typically would have been. Last time I woke with a start, I had screamed bloody murder, and my mother came into my room looking groggy and peeved, shoving a cup of coffee into my hands before going back to bed. This time around, while I didn't shriek, my frantic breathing could easily have agitated a hibernating bear, as I was practically hyperventilating—OH SWEET JESUS! There weren't any sleeping bears hiding in my closet, were there?? Oh man, what if there _were_, and my rapid breaths disturbed one of them in their dreamless slumber?? He'd come out, all angry and growling and snarling, and he'd maul me into my mattress! AUGH! Then I would be horribly disfigured for the rest of my life, and people would stare at me even _more!_ Or worse – I would DIE! NO! I can't have hazelnut mochas if I'm _dead!_

"Oh god, oh Jesus," I whimpered fearfully, staring at my closet door and slithering further under my thin, useless covers. "I'll be, _ngh_, quiet!" I assured the beast in a stage whisper, glancing at my alarm clock, the digital blue numbers glowing softly in the poor morning light. I squinted to read them, my eyes still blurry from the sleep I managed to get, and gasped theatrically at the time.

"AUGH! I'm LATE!" I screeched at no one, forgetting there could've been a disgruntled wild animal in my closet and launching myself out of bed, instantly scrambling to my dresser for clothes. Of course, I tripped, landing on my side, but I didn't have time to _doddle_, so I quickly recovered, picking myself up. On an average day, I get up at 5:30, because what if my space heater caught fire, and my house burned down? I'd have to find new clothes, get more coffee, and re-do my homework before I went to school. Or what if my dad went psycho and started breaking all the furniture? I'd have to find my way out of the wreckage, and who _knows_ how long that would take? Do you see my dilemma?

Holding up a striped long-sleeve and shaking all the while, I grabbed my looser, short-sleeve button-down and proceeded to get dressed. This routine went smoothly for some reason, but I still couldn't get all the buttons to align. Sighing shortly in defeat, I picked up my pants and attempted to put them on without falling over. Smiling a little when I successfully got both legs in, I caught a second glimpse at the clock and was suddenly reminded of why I had gotten up so late (6:00 is _not_ good!), freezing as much as a twitchy freak like me possibly could.

Craig was in my dream. He... came in, out of nowhere, and made the monsters go away. He was...

My hero.

The gorgeous, quiet raven was a hero in my dream last night, and I remembered something else, too: He hugged me. He _held_ me! He held me, and oh god, I _cried_ on him! SWEET JESUS, now he'll know I'm a total wuss for _sure__!_ Unless... unless he wasn't actually there. Because that's silly – real people can't be in your dreams for _real_, that makes no sense! Then again, I guess lots of the things that make me panic are nonsensical. That was it – my mind was just playing tricks on me, like it always does. Yeah! That was all...

"_Ngh_," I grunted aloud, my eyelid twitching severely. But, oh how I wished it _had_ been Craig – the heroic Craig told me I could be happy. I would be... so _happy_ if it was really him. Then again, what if he saw everything – every single part of that dream – and started hating me again for being so goddamned pathetic?? Oh _man_, please don't hate me again, Craig!

The phone sitting on my bookcase sang the Moonlight Sonata, and I shrieked, jumping at least a foot in the air and diving for the cell, confused. My mobile almost never rang, because nobody wanted to talk to me – I only have one because my mom wanted to be able to reach me at school if something came up. When I asked her what she meant, she told me she had to know where I was at all times, in case I needed to be picked up by a buyer. I'm still paranoid about getting a call from her telling me I'd been sold into slavery.

"ACK! H-hello?" I tried, the receiver an inch from my ear in case it was a prank call and someone blared a blow-horn into my skull and I went deaf. "Who, _ngh,_ is this?"

"Tweek?" came a beautiful, soft voice, and I nearly had a heart attack as I imagined his amazing lips forming my god-awful name. "It's Craig."

"C-Craig?!" I stammered stupidly, like he hadn't just told me that, like I didn't already know. How could I _not_ instantly recognize the voice I clung to every time I heard it? Even on the phone, it was the greatest sound I'd ever heard. "What's going on?? GAH! How'd you, _urk_, get my number?? _Ngh_, nobody likes me, so, _ngh_, nobody has it!" I strained, my paranoia running rampant out my mouth, "OH SWEET JESUS! Did the FBI give it to you?! Are you, _ngh_, an agent, too?? Holy CHRIST, you're in cahoots with Damien!"

"Dude. What the fuck. No." He paused. "'Cahoots?'" I winced. "I haven't told the FBI or the KGB about you, I promise." His words seemed to imply deeper meaning, and I caught something.

"I didn't say anything about the KGB!" I blurted.

"...How'd you sleep?"

MOTHER OF SIN, it _was_ him!!

"YOU WERE IN MY DREAM, WEREN'T YOU!" I shrieked, not a hint of questioning in the least. My pulse sped up, and I felt dizzy, wondering what to do with myself and clutching at my messy hair with my free hand, fidgeting in place.

"Whoa, whoa. Chill, dude," he cautioned. "Take a breath, kid. You'll feel better." I heaved in a humongous lungful of air, as much as I could hold, and let it out shortly. "Not like that." I tried again. "Release it, _release_ it." By now I was panting. "Never mind," he sighed, giving up. I whimpered apologetically. "Anyway... um, yeah. So I was in your dream."

"AUGH! I knew it!"

"The night before, we shared one. Courtesy of Damien."

"Wait, _ngh_, WHAT?" I stumbled on nothing, ending up on my bed and scrambling to sit up. "_Hngh_," I began, "the coffee shop!" We talked about this before, I remembered! "But, _ngh_, why?"

"Ask the Anti-Christ. It was _his_ idea," Craig muttered, irate. "_He_ made it happen."

"I can't, _ngh_, ask Damien!" I protested, the very thought making me shiver potently. "He scares me!"

"Everything scares you. That doesn't stop you talking to _me_," he pointed out quietly.

Oh Jesus, oh man, oh FUCK!

"Th-that's cuz you don't _hate_ me anymore – GAH!" There was silence on the end of his line, and I whined anxiously, gripping the cell phone tighter. "You don't, _ngh_, still—SWEET JESUS! Do you still _hate_ me??" I panicked, terrified of the answer.

"Shut up for a second," Craig sighed tiredly. "Damien doesn't hate you – he doesn't have any inclination toward you at all, I don't think," he explained slowly. "And no. No, I don't hate you," he finished as quietly as ever, his tone heavy with guilt. "I haven't hated you for a while now."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "_Hrgck_, really?" I breathed, hoping the tentative optimism in my voice didn't put him off.

"If I hated you, would I have bothered telling off that anti-me in your nightmare last night?" he threw out sharply. I squeaked, pondering over this myself. "...I don't do elaborate schemes, either, so could you _please_ stop worrying about it and just _believe_ me?" he added, slightly irked, but sounding somehow remorseful. "I _swear_ I don't hate you."

Eyelid twitching, I got up and headed downstairs quickly, making unattractive grunting noises on the way. "O-okay, _ngh_, C-Craig," I stuttered lamely, a swell of relief and joy rising in my chest as I stepped into the kitchen, heading for the coffee maker. "I... _ngh_, believe you." Dumping grounds into the filter, I forced myself to ask, "Why're you, _ngh_, calling? I see you at the, _ngh_, bus stop in an, _hrk_, hour."

OH GOD, it sounded like I didn't want him to call! I kind-of did, though – no, I _definitely_ did! "Not that I, _ngh_, don't want you to call!" I hastily informed him, hitting the 'on' button on the liquid heaven machine and opening the refrigerator for half-and-half. I knew I sounded desperate, but I couldn't help myself. "Unless you called cuz you, _ngh_, don't wanna talk to my – GAH! – face! Cuz you don't _ngh_, have to, I mean," I went on restlessly. Jesus, why don't I just SHUT UP??

"Dude, no, it's fine," he dismissed. "There's nothing wrong with your face. Why can't I talk to you now _and_ at the bus stop?" Oh god, was that a rhetorical question or not?? "I'm calling because... Shit, Tweek – I wanna talk to you," he said wearily.

"You wanna talk to, _ngh_, me??" I echoed stupidly, nearly dropping the carton of cream in my hand. "JESUS CHRIST!"

"Yeah, like, have a conversation, y'know?" he clarified. "Don't freak out, I've talked to you before, especially in the last two days—"

"YOU wanna have a conversation, _ngh_, with ME??" I interrupted incredulously, mostly shouting at myself, my voice getting shrill. "Why??"

"_Calm down!_" he instructed in a low hiss. I automatically clapped a hand over my mouth. "Yes. I wanna talk to you because – cuz it feels like I need to know more about you." He seemed exasperated, as though my disbelief was wearing thin his patience. A hint of embarrassment lined his words, and the shame I always had around him gripped my throat.

"_Hngh_, really? I – there isn't much, _ngh_, to know," I admitted sheepishly, still perking at the wonderful smell of fresh brew filling my senses. "I mean – I'm just some stupid, _ngh_, twitchy, _ngh_, freak," I elaborated, pouring my caffeine into two thermoses and a mug. "What else – ACK! – is there, _ngh_, to know?"

"Plenty," he stated confidently, the embarrassment gone from his tone, and I shrieked. "Do you read?"

"I, um, _ngh_," I tried, thinking back to my room's bookshelf. "Yes," I replied, feeling dumb. It was such a simple question, so why did it take me so long?

"What do you like to read?"

I felt myself blush, the titles of the novels running through my head rapidly. "Sweet Jesus," I whined. "Um, Pride and Prejudice, _urk_, Wuthering Heights, 20,000 Leagues Under—GAH!—the Sea, Sherlock, _ngh_, Holmes mysteries, Jekyll & Hyde, Isaac, _hrgck_, Asimov's short stories..." hopefully the last ones would cover up the classic romances – as if I wasn't enough of a pansy already, I enjoy girly romance novels. "A lot of, _ngh_, old stuff, I guess..."

"I would've thought Holmes 'n Hyde would be too exciting for you," he chuckled bemusedly.

"_Ngh_, sometimes they are," I confessed, flushing brighter and wildly stirring sugar and flavored syrup into my coffees.

He chuckled again, and I envisioned his exquisite lips smiling, my knees going weak. "Have you got a favorite movie?" he continued.

"AUGH!" There were _dozens_! Contrary to popular belief, I _loved_ exciting movies, even though they scared me half to death. "That is _way_ too much _pressure__!_" I strained, flinging a spoon over my shoulder as both my hands flew to grasp at my untidy hair. The phone fell to the floor, and I shrieked, dropping down to pick it up, fearing I had disconnected or he had gotten annoyed at the noise and hung up himself. "Hello? C-Craig??" I tested, speaking feverishly into the receiver. "Are you there? ACK!"

"Yeah," he assured me, and relief filled my tensed muscles. "I'm here, relax. How about you think about your answer, and I catch you at the bus stop?" he suggested, and I heard shuffling in the background. "I've gotta run home real quick. See you in a bit. Oh, and don't have a heart attack before we see each other, okay?" he joked. At least, I _hoped_ he was joking.

"Oh god! Okay!" I said loudly, afraid that I couldn't obey.

"Bye, Tweek."

Holy shit, he said my name again! "Bye, C-Craig," I stammered, wishing not for the first time that I could say _his_ name clearly. As the telltale click of a hang-up I was alone again, I stared down at his number on the tiny LCD screen before me. There were a total of four contacts in my cell's directory: mom, dad, home, and Harbucks. With a small smile, I added a fifth.

-

"'Morning, _ngh_, C-Craig. _Hrgck_, how are you?" I shyly inquired once he joined me at the street sign serving as our bus stop. It occurred to me that I had always asked him this, even when he hated me, even when his usual response had been a sock in the arm and a brusque, "Shut up, Spazmoid."

"'M good," he murmured, nodding briefly and leaning against the cold metal post. "You got a favorite film picked out yet?" he queried, tilting his ebony head inquisitively, his blue hat's tassels shifting on his shoulders.

"ACK! Uh – I like, _ngh_, Get Smart!" I blurted, squeezing my lime green thermos tightly, avoiding his tantalizingly stunning eyes with discomfiture. "It was really, _ngh_, funny, and I like Steve, _ngh_, Carell," I justified bashfully, suddenly realizing I was talking to my hero from last night and I hadn't even said thank you yet! "C-Craig – GAH!"

"Yeah?" Glancing at my thermos, which my stiff fingers gripped tighter nervously, he dug in his pockets for something.

"_Ngh_, thank you for... for saving me, _ngh_, last night," I quietly said, watching my breath make its little clouds in the freezing atmosphere. Shivering, I shut my eyes. "That dream—"

"Nightmare," he corrected.

"AUGH – nightmare, _ngh_, was about to get – JESUS, you were gonna _kill_ me!" I cried before I could stop myself, bringing my canister of caffeine to my mouth and unscrewing the lid. The hot, nutty coffee pouring down my esophagus soothed me a tiny bit, and my shakes grew less prominent.

"Tweek."

"GAH!" I yelped, jumping as a pair of yellow gloves was held out to me. "C-Craig?" I babbled densely, staring widely at him.

"Your fingers are pink," he noted. "Warm them up," he added sternly, pushing them into my hands forcefully.

"What about you, _ngh__?_" I protested, secretly elated to be holding a piece of him, even if it was only a small article of clothing. "My thermos is warm, _ngh_, but you don't have, _urk_, anything!" I pointed out, absentmindedly rubbing the acrylic between my almost numb fingers.

"I have _pockets_," he brushed aside, raising and eyebrow and tucking his hands into his pockets. "That thermos is unlikely to be all that warm anymore." I opened my mouth to argue, but he insisted, "Just wear them, alright? You don't hafta be cold."

Squeaking, I swiftly obeyed, holding my coffee in the crook of my elbow and clumsily slipping my dry fingers in to the surprisingly warm gloves, quivering with a surreptitious delight. I was glad of my shakes for once, since I often trembled when experiencing a rare moment of happiness, and no one bothered to notice the small difference. Even if they did, they'd probably just make fun of me for it later, and then a big, tall, bulky guy in a suit and dark sunglasses would come out of nowhere and _chloroform_ me, and I'd get carted off to some underground warehouse with a tons of rats – OH GOD, DIRTY SEWER RATS! – and he'd have a partner there who would tie me to a chair, and then they'd interrogate me _endlessly_ about gnomes and coffee! Sweet Jesus – I _knew_ they were out to get me!

"Are you okay?"

"JESUS CHRIST!"

Leaping approximately six feet in the air and letting out a terrified scream, I fell against a firm, robust bush (lucky me, for once), gawking at Craig once again. As soon as I had moved, he had bent forward, swiftly catching my canister of crack before it could noisily land on the frozen sidewalk. Tossing it casually up and catching it again, he raised an eyebrow skeptically, wearing a small smirk.

"I'm thinking that your thermos can only take so many falls before something happens," he commented flatly, offering a hand to help me up. I obligingly took it, and he hauled me up expertly.

"'Sup, guys?"

"AUGH!" This time I had to turn around to face the source of the cheerful greeting, and tripped on my untied, overlong shoelaces. "_Hrk!_" caught in my throat as I stumbled backward into Craig; the taller raven caught me easily, steadying me on my feet before I could register being perfectly stable and safe.

"Hello, _Tweek_," Clyde said politely, emphasizing my name for some reason and grinning at Craig, stepping past me to fist-bump his best friend. "'Sup, Craig?"

Grunting with indifference or indecisiveness, he shrugged, avoiding the brunette's hazel gaze. "Say anything and you're going to found out how hard it is to live without a pancreas," he told the boy evenly, a morbid underlying to his tone.

Clyde chuckled close to nervously at the calm threat, even though I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming or whimpering. I don't even know what a pancreas _does_, but I bet it's vitally important, OH GOD!

"Dude, I wouldn't do _that_," he defensively protested, smirking. "But he'll learn somehow... _riiight?_" he questioned meaningfully.

Slowly turning only his head to face him, Craig stared blankly at Clyde, daring him to continue. He stared hard for so long, I started shivering severely in anticipation, the suspense holding a knife to my throat. OH JESUS, what if I vibrated too hard and it accidentally slit my jugular?!

"Shut up, Clyde," Craig lowed at last, just before I could panic about a metaphor cutting my throat for real. A middle finger was shoved in the grinning teen's face while Craig added, "_Don't_ get involved."

"Whatever, man," Clyde dismissed, holding up his hands in mock-surrender. Pausing, his grin faded a little. "Hey, where are your gloves, dude?" he asked. "Aren't you cold?"

"ACK!" I yelped, grabbing handfuls of my hair and stepping away shamefully. "I'm sorry! I _knew_ you'd be, _ngh_, cold, but I still, _ngh_, took them!"

"You stole his gloves?" the brunette breathed, eyebrows skyrocketing in impressed disbelief. "He stole your gloves?" he directed at Craig.

"What? No," the dark-haired beauty sighed, rolling his eyes. "I _loaned_ them to you, remember? Quit freakin' out," he directed toward me, frowning slightly. "And for the last time, I am _not_ _cold_." Handing me back my bright green thermos, he added, "Really." Nodding vigorously, I took my coffee back, twitching unintentionally and taking a much-needed sip.

"...Have you only got a sweater on?" Craig asked quietly, eying me sideways. Clyde looked at my too-big knit, too, seeming unsure. "It's, like, six degrees out, dude."

"OH JESUS, really??" I blurted, clutching my thermos. "I thought it was, _ngh_, eighteen!" That's what the thermometer at home said. What if it was wrong, or broken though? What if it EXPLODED, and I went home to a mercury-soaked house, and my whole family got mercury poisoning and we all DIED?! Oh my god, it would be all my fault!

"I'm just guess—never mind." Rolling his stunning eyes, he glanced down the street and saw the bus. "'S here."

Clyde got on first, waving off the screams of our crazy bus driver (she's always scared me), and Craig urged me on before him, motioning for me to continue to the back and into his normal spot. I sat up against the window, dropping my bag onto the floor at my feet and leaning forward into myself, where I felt a little safer than I did sitting up straight. Slouching down next to me and dumping his bag carelessly in the aisle, he let out a long, drained sigh.

"What's the—GAH!—matter, C-Craig?" I asked carefully, watching him out of the corner of my eye and gulping down another serving of my lifeblood.

"Nothin'," he replied, returning the gaze and reaching over to me. Flinching automatically, I tensed for no reason. Ruffling my messy locks, he went on, "I can never make up for the last eight years..."

I closed my eyes, savoring his touch and letting myself smile the tiniest bit, unaware of much else other than the sound of his voice.

"...But I won't let anybody put you through anything like that again. Just like I promised. It won't happen again, not in this life, or the next..." It seemed as though he wanted to say more, but all he did was stare at me, hand still resting in my tangled mass of hair, a despondent expression dominating his captivating features.

"C-Craig?" I uttered awkwardly, as something hit me: He was making more promises he couldn't keep. We were only in _high school_, for god's sake, and it was only a matter of time before he grew sick of me. Again. Who wouldn't? Even _I'm_ sick of me.

"Lookit me."

My eyes had strayed, frightened I would start tearing-up if I met his gaze – his cold, haunting gaze – and he would laugh at me. Now I forced myself to suck it up, turning my ugly green eyes up to meet his lovely azure orbs. I couldn't breathe as the hand on top of my head slid back and aimed my face higher. My heart and my pants went into overdrive, and I bit my lip nervously. The trembling got worse, and I silently cursed my coffee addiction for the millionth time.

"...You smell like coffee," he murmured, giving me a small smile and gently urging me forward. "And hazelnuts..."

"_Eep_," I squeaked oddly, as my forehead met his collarbone and I was invited to rest there. My breathing sped up in time with my heart rate as Craig reached his other hand to my shoulder and steadily pressed me into him in a bizarre, magnificent side-hug.

"Relax," he whispered. "You can lean on me, it's okay..."

Breathing him in, I allowed myself this small joy he was offering, a rush of happiness cancelling out the caffeine in my veins, and for a split second, I was still, lying against him with my thermos on the seat and my hands tugging at the hem of my forest green sweater. He smelled of burnt bamboo and pine, and vanilla and... some kind of cologne? Whatever it was, it was really nice, and without thinking, I nuzzled into his strong chest to get more of it. Gasping smally when I realized what I was doing, I jerked backward, inevitable shakes coming back full force, sure I'd crossed a line and turned a friendly gesture into something it wasn't. The bulge in my pants wasn't helping my situation, _especially_ if he noticed!

"You're fine," Craig assured me quietly, firmly but gently keeping his hold on my head to keep me from throwing myself into the cold metal bus walls in panic, "It's fine..." His voice was sincere, but it still sounded like he was struggling with something.

Ceasing all resistance, I let him hold me again, falling into his unexpected warmth and shutting my eyes. After a moment, I could hear his heartbeat, and I sighed like the hopeless romantic I secretly was, absorbing the sound and feel of the thrum. It pounded rhythmically, echoing softly, the beat strong and purposeful, strong and... fast?

"Fuck all," he muttered, suddenly irate. Shifting under me, he added hastily, "Don't move, don't panic. Everything's fine, you didn't do anything wrong, okay? Just – just hang on a sec..."

Opening one eye in paranoid curiosity, I watched him anxiously, as he readjusted where he sat, as though uncomfortable. Fretting over being too heavy or bony, I took this opportunity to fix my pants under the guise of fiddling with the edge of my sweater. It may not happen very often, but even twitchy freaks can be sneaky, too. Once he seemed satisfied with his new position, he sighed again, and another peek upward told me we were being watched. He was exhibiting his middle finger, staring dully at whomever the gesture was for. I let a small whine of discomfort, the thought of someone's disapproval making me think we'd be separated, either by Craig's hand (as he realized he was hugging a spastic nut job) or somebody else's.

"What's wrong?" came a low, wonderful voice, making me start. "Are you uncomfortable or something?"

"NO!" I protested instantly, shaking my head against him. "It's just... _ngh_, so much _pressure_," I lamely rationalized, my pulse racing. What if he let go? I mean, I wouldn't be surprised – I'm used to all sorts of rejection, after all – but I'd feel so... _small_ if he let go right now. His awkward embrace was nice, and I felt safe.

Sweet mother of tap-dancing baby CHRIST. I felt _safe_.

"_Hrk_," I choked into his coat, "C-Craig?" Oh man, what was I _doing_??

"Yeah, Tweek?"

My chest ached at the sound of my wretched title on his fantastic lips, and I summoned every scrap of bravery I had to say, "Thank you."

"No problem," he relayed softly back, giving my shoulder a small squeeze. I didn't shriek or twitch or anything, and felt a microscopic amount of pride. "Tell me if it bothers you."

"N-no! It's nice, I, _ngh_, like this!"

Freezing in panic, I chomped into my bottom lip before glancing experimentally up at the dark-haired boy above. My quaking worsened as he gazed blankly back down at me, cerulean boring into me. Blocking my chapped lips with my hand in shame, I remembered I was wearing his sunshine-yellow gloves, and just as quickly tore my fingers away, not wanting to infect his things with my germs, a short cry escaping my mouth. His searching stare gradually fueled my nerves, and I unconsciously began bouncing my leg.

"Stop that," he commanded plainly, glancing at my vibrating knee. I squeaked, obeying immediately. "Chill. You're hopeless," he chuckled lightly, urging my head back down and tenderly stroking my chaotic hair, resting his head carefully atop mine. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Stiffening at the affection I couldn't even dream of, I cautiously asked as inaudibly as I could get away with (which wasn't very for me), "For, _ngh_, what?"

"I'll never be able to say it enough," he answered, distracted. "If your nightmare last night was any indication, your fear is completely my fault. I know it for sure now." Pulling away slowly, he aimed my face to his again, "I owe you eight years of life that you can never get back," he finished gravely.

"Jesus Christ!" I squealed, his seriousness both familiar and alien. He thinks he _owes_ me? What could he possibly owe _me_?? All I do is get in his way, make his friends mad, and interfere with his life – I just take up space! How could he ever imagine somehow being in my debt? Blood rushed to my face, and there was no question that I was blushing quite brightly.

"Is there any way I can ever make it up to you?"

"HOLY JESUS!" I blurted, launching backward in an odd display of agility and brawn, able to escape his gentle grasp and press against the frosted bus window. "You don't, _ngh_, owe me anything, C-Craig!" I strained, feeling vulnerable again.

"The hell I _don't_," he countered, unamused. "Calm down, you're going to hurt yourself," he went on, kinder. "I just think... I just feel like treating you better won't be enough, dude. Not for everything I've done to you." Eying me up and down as I lowered myself fully back onto the seat, he shut his eyes after a moment, looking displeased. "I don't mean that like it's the only reason I'm different, either." Opening his gorgeous blue orbs, he watched me with bizarre, heart-stopping sadness.

Wait, _sadness__??_

"Please let me try to make it up to you?" he pleaded quietly.

I could've fainted. Craig Tucker – beautiful, apathetic, cold Craig Tucker – wanted to do something for me. He wanted too _make it up to me_. An uneasy excitement swelled in my gut, and I was sure whatever would come out of my mouth next would get me killed.

"Okay, C-Craig."

He smiled, and my intestines leapt with horrified ecstasy before effectively melting. I didn't know if I was smiling back or cowering under the dazzling light of his own. "Good. It starts _now_," he stated, determined.

"Oh _Jesus_," I whimpered. What have I _done__??_

-

First period passed in a blur, my thoughts never once straying from Craig's mind-numbing smile. I barely even noticed the anxious glances thrown my way, no doubt because while I still shook like I was on meth, my expression was dazed and confused rather than alert and insane. On my way to study hall, I took a swig of my caffeine bliss, a whole new kind of stress on my shoulders.

Craig had sounded like he had something _planned_, as though he had only been waiting for my hesitant confirmation to put aforementioned plans into action. Maybe he was going to drown me in coffee, since everybody knows it's my lifeline. But AUGH, if I _drown_, I'll DIE! I don't wanna die! I wouldn't even be able to enjoy the paradise I'd be in if I had enough coffee to actually _drown_ in it! Then again, I read somewhere once about only needing three inches of liquid to drown – OH GOD, was he really gonna drown me??

"Hey, Tweek," greeted a friendly voice from behind me.

Whirling around, I threw my arms up over my face and instinctively went into a defensive stance, my binder and thermos flying into the air. "ACK! Please don't drown me, _ngh_, C-Craig!" I exclaimed stupidly.

Kenny skeptically raised an eyebrow. "Why would Craig _drown_ you?" he inquired carefully, cocking his hooded head to the side and squatting briefly to pick up my various dropped items. "He wouldn't do that," he went on confidently, handing my things to me with one of his charming smiles on, reminding me of what started my ridiculous drowning panic. His friendly smile to turned to a roguish grin when he saw me avert my wide eyes and flush. "You really are just too _cute_!" he laughed, slinging an arm around my shoulders and leading us into the cafeteria, causing me to yelp. "Why didn't you warm up sooner, man?" he playfully demanded of the raven in question as we approached his table. "I mean – look at this guy!" Urging me forward, he eyed me pointedly and I simpered pathetically at the attention. Holding the sides of my head and pointing me towards Craig, he added teasingly, "How could you ever hate a face like this?"

"GAH!" I cried sharply, Kenny's firm grip on my head making me nervous as well as flustered, because while I was happy at the friendliness and familiarity I'd never had with anyone, I was also worried he might crush my skull between his hands.

"Dude, cut it out," Craig grumbled, blinking flatly and pulling me forward and away from the enthusiastic blonde by my shoulder as he stood. Motioning for me to sit and ignoring Kenny's chuckle, he flicked him off automatically.

I hesitated to join him and Clyde, even though Clyde was only frowning confusedly at his math homework instead of glaring at me. I was still fretting over what Craig was planning. Sitting next to him would just make my anxiety grow, and then I would start panicking, and I'd flail around and probably fall over or hit him or something, and then he would get mad, and squish me under the table!

Fidgeting in place, I tugged at the hem of my shirt awkwardly, hoping he would forget I was here so I could slip away unnoticed to panic elsewhere – I'd embarrass only myself that way.

"Sit. Seriously," he said emphatically, turning slightly to gaze up at me, blue eyes sincere. "It doesn't bite."

"AUGH!"

"COCK!" Thomas unintentionally responded. I noted in the back of my head that he hadn't been here yesterday.

"No, _ngh_," I protested defiantly, my eyelid twitching. "I didn't think—GAH!—_that_."

The alluring raven raised a brow, and I bit my lip, because HOLY SHIT, I BACK-TALKED CRAIG TUCKER! "_Hrgck_," I choked in anticipation. Even Clyde looked up from his homework, catching my outburst.

"…I didn't mean it like that," he murmured, smirking as if impressed (IMPRESSED??) and inclining his head at the empty spot again. "It was more like an invitation."

"OH GOD! To what??"

"To sit," he answered, rolling his eyes and pulling on my sleeve without even having to look back. I plunked down beside him reluctantly, my leg instantly jumping rhythmically. "You're acting like I'm gonna eat you," he accused, setting his elbow on the table and leaning his chin on the heel of his palm.

"GAH!" I yelped, reaching up to my hair and grabbing hold of it habitually. "Don't, _ngh_, eat me!" I begged dismally, complying with his emotionless movements to bring my arms down again.

"I'm not gonna _eat_ you, dude," Craig muttered tightly, inspecting my bandages. "…Did you not change them again?" he asked quietly, scrutinizing the second round of dirtied gauze with a disapproving frown.

"Well, _ngh_, no," I bashfully admitted, thrilled that he was touching me again. Avoiding his gaze, I swallowed excuses.

"If you don't have the stuff for it, or your parents won't help, you should—_need_ _to_ tell me."

"_Urk_." How did he know I ran out of first aid equipment? Has he met my father, too?? Fidgeting once more, I balled my sore hands into weak fists. "ACK! I almost, _ngh_, forgot!" I shouted as I remembered something, daring to pull my hands away from Craig's loose grip and diving into my messenger bag. I came back up with his gloves, timidly holding them out to him. "I could wash them, _ngh_, first, if you—GAH!—want," I offered awkwardly. Who wants to touch, let alone _wear_ gloves _I've_ worn? Especially with these disease-ridden bandages covering my skin? Oh JESUS! What if I got AIDS on his gloves?? Whimpering in apprehension, I drew them back to my chest before he even had a chance to reach for them. "_Ngh_, no, I'll wash them for sure!" I hastily assured him, moving to tuck the biologically hazardous articles back into my bag.

"You don't hafta do that," he sighed, taking them from my fingers quickly and making me yelp. "And we can get gauze and stuff for you to take home later, okay?"

Shivering potently, I knew I was blushing. "Okay, C-Craig."

"Hate to break in – and I actually _do_, believe me – but rumor has it that _you_, Craig, are secretly a history buff."

"SWEET JESUS!" I shrieked, gaping at Kenny's reappearance. A loud, "BALLSACK!" echoed by Thomas made me squeak.

"What," Craig deadpanned. He fixed the apologetic blonde with a dull stare. "Who told you that?"

The orange-clad hormone-factory shrugged, smirking. "You handed Choksondik her ass the other day, and you weren't even paying attention." He sat down next to me, scooting closer and leaning forward to talk to the raven on the other side of me. "So are you?"

Craig had begun tensing once the boy hand taken a seat, but he froze, and shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if shaking himself awake as subtly as possible. I have no idea how I could have noticed such a small detail, considering I was trembling uncontrollably and my vision was a little shaky as well.

"Whatever," he dismissed with a cool flip of his middle finger. But he pushed his textbook in front of me and opened it casually, wearily inquiring, "What d'you need help with?"

As the two guys who talked to me regularly began discussing some aspect of our country's history with each other on either side of me, somehow not exactly ignoring me in the process, I felt a brilliant swell of happiness rise in me, and I found myself… smiling.

Did I have… friends?

Just before my paranoid, pessimistic mind could fret over hidden motives or ways I would straightaway put them off, somebody touched my wringing hands; I came close to jumping out of my skin, and met dangerously distracting azure eyes with an unattractive garble of words and a wide-eyed stare.

"You smiled," Craig noted quietly.

"Aw, you made it go away, Craig!" Kenny whined, pouting. "You shoulda let him keep going!" He winked at me, and I winced, embarrassed to no end. "It suits you. Smiling."

Bringing his frigid fingers back, the tall noirette before me nodded slightly – agreeing?? "What were you thinking about?"

"Craaaig!"

"Jesus." He turned his attention to the frowning brunette. "What, Clyde?"

"This makes mo sense!" the boy whined in frustration, showing his best friend the algebra problem on his paper. "Help _meee_," he begged with puppy-dog eyes.

Glancing at me, he gave a tiny, dazzling, knowing smile before helping his math-challenged friend as Kenny giggled to himself. A part of me clung to the small hope that that little smile was just for me.

-

During third period, I'd daydreamed about Hero Craig. Hero Craig – real Craig – held me in his arms, letting me cry without passing any harsh or negative judgment. Hero Craig told me I could be happy. I was shocked at myself, at how I could possibly have let the guy who now quite literally was in my dreams escape my thoughts for almost three whole hours.

Staring at he back of his head, or really, his blue fleece hat, I let my helpless mind wander, imagining his strong arms keeping me safe again, his soft, dark voice telling me I would be okay, that I was alright. He turned to look back at me once, and I yelped, ducking behind my notebook and realizing this was the first time in months that even a daydream hadn't gone awry. No secret agents came to steal my hectic memories, no gnomes stole my underpants, and I didn't trip over anything and plunge to my death. For the second time that day, I felt a little bit proud of myself.

"Wow. Twice in one day."

Choking on my own saliva, I leapt backward in my seat. "_Ngh_, Kenny??" I questioned dumbly. "Twice? AUGH!"

"Twice you've smiled today. I _do_ hope it's about Craig," the grinning teen purred in a fake British accent, socking my arm playfully.

"GAH!" I yelped when his light punch landed, mostly surprised. "I – maybe, but, _ngh_, but please don't tell C-Craig," I quietly pleaded, rubbing at the spot he'd hit.

"Tell me what?"

"HOLY SIN!"

Craig loomed darkly, enigmatically over our heads, standing lazily and contradicting his overwhelming beauty. Raising an eyebrow with mild suspicion, he sat backward in the seat in front of me. "Relax," he instructed my nervous, shaking form easily. "You don't hafta tell me." He paused. "Unless you hurt yourself again."

"_Hngh_, no," I anxiously promised, looking away and noticing most students were chatting like we were – class must almost be over.

"Good." He nodded, pleased.

The bell sounded, and I bit back my cry of, "JEUS CHRIST!" Flinching when Thomas cried out instead, I saw Kenny lean into Craig secretively and whisper. Craig smiled faintly, flipping him off and following me out the door with the laughing blonde in tow. He soon broke off to chat with a perky Butters, however, and it was just Craig and I walking to fourth.

"Tweek."

OH MY GOD, my _name_ again! "Yeah, _hrk_?"

"You're a real good guy," the ebony-haired boy murmured, stepping up next to me and tousling my hair in the wonderful, awkward way he had a few times before. "And I will never stop being sorry."

His words made me both elated and sad, but I still felt the glorious, sick rush of warmth at the combination of his voice and his touch.

I let myself smile once more, and he returned the gesture.

"Thank you, _ngh_, C-Craig."

"No problem… Tweekers."

* * *

**A/N** again: AUGH I FUCKING HATE THIS CHAPTER, OH MY GOOOOOOOOD!! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!

Everybody is too… zsvnieabrtu9-q34bin Wo4[, and Craig is moving _really bloody fast_, and I will very likely rewrite this in the future, though it will take some time. I'll post the next chapter first, undoubtedly, but stuff/details will change in here. =_=' Unless someone doesn't loathe it and thinks I shouldn't waste my time trying to fix it, you'd better let me know, or I _will_. Ugh.

I could tell you exactly what it is I hate, but that would skyrocket the word count, and I personally hate fics with more A/N than actual fic, y'know?

Anyway, sorry for what is probably the shittiest chapter yet. I hope to a god I don't believe in that it won't make anyone die a little inside the way it did for me. TT_TT I'm sad now. Bleh.

Also: I adore reviews. I ADORE them! =3 XD Fuel my inspiration, guys! Help me write a much better chapter next tie!! D= Do it, do it, do it! ^_^


	12. WWKD?

ckvnb i8h029owjdfvniuw0[934op;lgmsvc ;bu8syu0a[ejrzglfZOMFG 163 REVIEWS?! I ADORE YOU PEOPLE, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW.

**A/N**: Cripes, I never made it clear whose number Craig had in his directory. He had Kenny's – Kenny had Tweek's. Remember WWKD? Well, Craig called him first, talked a lil', and got Tweek's number. How did Kenny have Tweek's number, you ask? Well, Kenny is MAGICAL. That's how. Ahem.

The 'M' rating finally means something! =D Not what I'm raring towards yet, though, but there's some graphic… stuff? Well, there's pen0r. That's what you need to know. =3

Anyhow, thanks to Menet for pinpointing the issue I wanted to peg involving Tweek's feelings regarding Craig's guilt. It's explained in here, I promise. Also: This is an _awkward_ chapter. Somehow, I can actually decide if I dislike it or not, though. =/ Hm. It's pretty, um, redundant, I guess. I can't even fake enthusiasm or angry ranting, because I'm sick and totally have no energy for it.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

_Craig's P.O.V_.

WWKD?

His startled shriek and wide-eyed stare at my new nickname for him thrilled me, and a flare of my old arrogance made me smirk. As if karma was interfering, however, he flushed a hot pink, and I felt my pulse race to keep up with my hectic thoughts of "_cute_" and "_fuck, I love that blush._" Jerking his torso forward inadvertently, he fumbled with his thermos, tugging roughly at his hair as we headed to history.

"T-Tweekers??" he questioned shyly, the shimmer in his emerald eyes glistening hopefully. I felt protective again, standing straighter and never taking my eyes off his increasingly more appealing face. "Where did, _ngh_, that come from?" he quavered, gaze tentatively darting between his lime green All-Stars and me.

I blinked. That was a good question. Probably came from the fact that his name was slang for being on speed – and one of the terms meth-users were dubbed was "tweeker." To have been named that at birth was a strange and suspicious coincidence. Either that or his parents were sadists and _planned_ his drug-addict result. In a way, using it as an endearment was ironic, but it made perfect sense in a satisfying, shove-it-in-their-faces kind of way. Though instead of divulging this information to him, I shrugged.

"Makes sense," I mumbled awkwardly. It seemed like everything I said since I dialed the cell phone number Kenny had given me this morning was incredibly awkward.

"_Zzzzzeeergh_," he strained, yanking fistfuls of his fantastic mess of gold locks, "That is way too much _pressure!_" His huge green eyes darted around the hall, panicked and unsure, his cheeks ablaze.

Smirking, I rolled my eyes and pulled his closest hand from his overreacting head, blinking in surprise. When did he put my gloves back on? They were already warm on the _outside_, too. I wondered vaguely if caffeine heated the blood as well as energized it. "Do you like them?" I asked unwittingly, holding up his quivering hand at the wrist. Where did _that_ come from?

"Your gloves??" he squeaked, eyes wide and terrified. He flushed brighter, and my chest ached with a perverted happiness at the brilliant color. "I, _ngh_, um, yes?" he answered softly, and I knew he wanted to give me the answer I desired, but could tell he wasn't certain of what the "correct" response was.

My _god_, he's adorable. Goddammit.

"Really?" I pressed, subtly coaxing him for an honest opinion.

Even if he took it the wrong way, he averted his wavering gaze and fidgeted. In a painfully sincere voice, he said, "_Ngh_, yeah…" He not once struggled against my hold on him, and I realized we'd stopped outside history class. He stood hunched slightly into himself, toes angled inward – the stance of insecurity, of fear and anxiety. He knew that world well, whereas I was practically a stranger… A stranger who put him there. Another swell of guilt built up in my lungs, and it felt like I was going to suffocate.

No more.

I promised, and I would help.

"Good," I murmured, progressively more determined. "Stand up straight," I instructed, startling him with the firmness in my tone. He yelped, jerking in an odd twitch and gazing up at me in bewilderment.

"C-Craig??"

"You can do it," I assured him confidently, straightening my own spine as if to give example. "C'mon, Tweek—" He issued a small squeak. "—It's not hard."

With obvious trepidation regarding my motives, the shaky coffee fiend carefully stood at his full height, which in all honesty still no more than 5'7", tops. But as I've said before, his dramatic, naturally spiky, unkempt hair made up for the three-and-a-half inches to my height. Suddenly I had the weird urge to bury my face in that tangled mess, to breathe in his coffee and hazelnut scent like I had on the bus that morning. As if the increasingly frequent temptations to tousle his hair weren't strange enough, now I was just being… creepy. He wasn't my… oh Christ, my _boyfriend!_

…_Yet_, a devious part of my mind chuckled. I found my cheeks burning and mentally whacked the voice away, irate. Jesus, I'm weird lately. I was back to feeling the tiniest bit cruel for having gripped onto him for so long for no apparent reason.

"Good. You look less vulnerable now," I bluntly stated. Immediately after his eyes widened, I shut my own and ground my teeth in a silent moment of disapproval of myself. Way to fuel his self-esteem, asshole. "What it means is," I tried remedying, "You seem more confident when you aren't bent over like you're trying to make a shell for yourself." FUCK, that wasn't any better!

"How did, _ngh_, you know I felt—ACK!—safer??" he inquired nervously. "Are you _psychic??_ OH SWEET JESUS! You, _ngh_, can read my mind!" he wailed, backing up and crushing his skull between his hands.

Again I mentally slapped myself. My choice of words wasn't getting me anywhere. What happened to the me that was a compulsive liar? Well, I was actually _always_ either one or the other – automatically lying or stating the brutal truth. Ever since I could talk, that was how I talked; throw in swearing, sarcasm, and malice for a while, and you had my style of speech.

"I'm not psychic, okay?" I sighed, putting both hands on his jittery shoulders to still him. "I'm just… good at guessing, I… guess," I lamely clarified, frowning a little. "But people will look at you differently if you stand up straighter – trust me." There was a promise in those words, and I hoped I could hold to it.

"But I don't, _ngh_, want people to look at me!" he simpered, heeding my advice anyway. "GAH! No, well, I want people to acknowledge me, but not to, _ngh_, to _look at_ me," he tried again, sounding confused. "People have always, _ngh_, looked at me…!" he finished sadly, tugging at the hem of his cotton button-down.

I expected to feel liable, to feel like it was my fault. I did, but something else overpowered it, something that was always there, and had been waiting expectantly to resurface. It wasn't until yesterday that I even knew it existed, not, at least, in respect to _him_.

That "love" thing. That desperate urge to protect him, to hold him safely against me, tell him it would be okay, keep him from the demons that attacked his dreams and self-esteem. I had known I wanted to protect him, but it wasn't until my dense best friend told me _why_ that I knew.

Life can be such a bitch.

"People will always look at you," I murmured slowly, using that frank honesty of mine and ignoring his tiny whimper in favor of finishing my thought before it vanished in my head. "People look at me, too, but you know what _I_ do?" He shook his head, brow knitted in baffled curiosity. "I brush it off, sometimes flip 'em off – because what they think _doesn't matter_." _You fucking hypocrite, Craig._ Leaning into him, I met his eyes and stared mercilessly. "And I know that's a hard concept for you to grasp," I went on, more gently, knowing I still had to tread lightly. _What would Kenny do? What would Kenny do?_ Well, he would undoubtedly plant a kiss on him, but I figured that would succeed only in traumatizing the poor guy. "But so help me god, you're gonna walk with confidence."

The bell sounded loudly, just down the hall, and both of us jumped a little, Tweek shrieking. Pushing him pointedly into the room and ducking in after him, I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw Choksondik occupied with writing something on the blackboard. She didn't notice as I guided Tweek to the open seat up front next to me, where two spots were left open, conveniently located between Kenny and Token. Seating him on my left, next to the hooded nympho, I shot the orange-clad boy a narrowed glance. He wasn't in his usual spot, and it didn't take a genius to see why. I also sneaked a look back, and saw Butters watching us all with cautious optimism, Thomas leaning forward at the same angle, equal expectations in his expression; I showed them my middle finger for good measure, smirking. Butters smiled slightly, and the Tourette's boy announced, "COCKSUCKER!"

Tweek shook in place the whole period, taking feverish notes on the teacher's dull as sin monologue and letting himself smile whenever Kenny cracked a joke about her or something she said. Token nudged me once or twice to get my attention, reminding me that class was up front and not in the chair next to me. I would tear my concentration from the escalating preciousness that was his self-conscious face, and pretend I didn't need persuasion to do so. My historical repertoire was well versed in the department of recent wars, so my attention was pretty much wasted in the lazy-eyed woman anyway, but I had to control myself.

During lunch, I practically dragged him to our table, unwilling to let him convince himself no one wanted him there. When he returned from the lunch line with a tray of food, I noticed his posture had improved the slightest bit, and I was proud of him. Once he awkwardly climbed onto the bench next to me, he slouched defensively again, and without really thinking about it, I placed my hand on the small of his back; he sat bolt upright, sucking in a sharp breath and then squealing at the cold contact. He dropped his plastic spork onto his Styrofoam plate and stared at me with his mouth hanging open. Stan and Kyle exchanged glances and gave me a weary look. I ignored them and subtly leaned toward the startled boy and patted his back in the same place.

"Sit up straighter, too," I suggested quietly, as though our miniature lesson outside history was still taking place, as if no one else at the table was slouching. Tell the truth, in the end, it was sort-of an excuse to touch him. A part of me felt a lot like a dirty old man giving yoga lessons to some unknowing young thang. Luckily, his hot pink blush canceled out that part.

"Okay, C-Craig," he replied with a twitch, obeying without question.

"So, you tried that internet porn yet, Tweeky?"

"ACK! OH GOD, no!"

"Fuck you, Kenny," I stated dully, flipping him off mechanically.

"You really should leave him alone about those sorts of things, Kenny," Butters scolded in that… Butters way of his.

"Yeah, Christ, Ken," Kyle agreed, frowning at his hooded friend.

"Just makin' conversation!" Kenny said defensively, throwing his hands up in mock-surrender. "It came up yesterday."

"Well, it's none of your business," Kyle and I said in irate unison. I raised as eyebrow at him, and he pressed his lips together indignantly. Stan and Token gave us both an odd look while the small blonde in question tugged erratically at his hair.

"Too… much… PRESSURE!" he cried, earning a loud curse from a similarly voiced student across the cafeteria. He unscrewed his thermos and chugged half its contents in record time. "I've never, _ngh_, looked at porn before!" he strained. He probably thought he'd have to explain himself. "My parents—GAH!—they'd find out, _ngh_, and I would be in SO MUCH TROUBLE!! Oh Jesus!"

"Oh yeah. White slavery, right?" Kenny mused in an off-handed manner.

"Dude, then what do you whack off to?" Clyde wondered incredulously, gawking in disbelief that a guy his age didn't find porn every night like he was bound to.

"_Hrgck_, w-whack off??" Tweek echoed, genuinely oblivious.

"Aw, come on, man," Token protested, throwing down his sandwich in outraged distaste. "I'm eatin' here!"

"You know: jerk off, stroke the bull, get off, fap, wank, jack off, she-bop… masturbate?" Kenny offered, grinning like the pervert he was.

"I – I know what it, _ngh_, means!" the trembling kid threw back defiantly, though he was still quite clearly embarrassed, red flaring up in his cheeks and making me start. I glanced disbelievingly at my crotch.

You have got to be kidding me. Not _now_.

"You ever even _done_ it?" Clyde asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"Hey, you can't spring that question on _him_ – it didn't work on _me!_" the redheaded Jew across from the blonde scoffed. "Leave the poor guy alone." I smiled vaguely at his defense, unconsciously scooting closer to the "poor guy."

"Well, speaking of – _you_ never answered!"

"That's my _point_, Kenny!"

"But seriously," Clyde interjected, uninterested in Kyle's response. "Have you ever jacked off, Sp—Tweek?" I shot the brunette a mild glare, letting him know I didn't miss his near fuck-up.

"Uh, um, I, _ngh!_" Tweek babbled in flummoxed misery. His cheeks lit up ever brighter, and he gripped anxiously at his hair. Shutting his eyes, he bit down hard on his bottom lip, and I realized I was holding my breath in anticipation, my privates acting up preemptively. _Fuck,_ I'm weird. "I—ACK!—a few times," he admitted, shamefaced.

Ohhh shit. I was definitely hard now. Images of his beautiful face scrunched up in that overwrought expression, curled up as he stroked himself, panting and gasping, grunting and squealing the way he does… I saw images of him just a little pained, sweating and twitching more with every pump. His shimmering emerald eyes would fly open, and in my mind, he cried out my name as he came…

"…aig! …CRAIG!"

I was shoved roughly into Token, who pushed me upright once more with a worried expression. Blinking, I came down from my thoughts to see everyone at the table staring at me: Kyle, Token, and Tweek were gawking with mute horror, Stan and Clyde looked vaguely amused, Butters was unsure, and Kenny was leaning back to stare past Tweek at me with disgruntled disapproval combined with weary encouragement. Talk about a mixed message. Blinking again, I carefully glanced downward and saw my hand was over my crotch, and a distant part of my brain told me I'd not only begun rubbing myself a bit, but groaning just loud enough to be heard.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Son of a FUCKNUT!

Trying to keep my blank expression in place, I stood abruptly and muttered, "Sorry. I'll be right back," before walking swiftly toward the double doors on the south side, heading for the nearest boys' room. I can't believe I just did that. What the _hell_ has gotten into me? That was out of character, lewd, and… and… And Tweek fucking _saw!_ I'm not Kenny, I don't do that shit in public! God_dammit!_ Now I not only had to take care of it, I had to come up with something to say to the little caffeine addict. Throwing open the double doors out of the cafeteria, I was too distracted to hear Kenny's laughter.

Slamming a stall door and continuing to mumble obscenities to myself, I practically ripped my dick out of my jeans. Picturing the spastic, paranoid boy again was easy enough, and I immediately began pumping. His face changed from embarrassed to an unbearably sexy _come hither_ look, as I threw myself into the scene; he was on _my_ bed now, rather than on what I imagined his to be like, and as I slowly climbed over him, he reached up and brought my neck low enough to crush our lips together. I slipped my hand over his warm abdomen, delighting in his shivers at my cool, feathery touch. He smoothed over my own abdomen, and suddenly plunged into my pants, groping me in his shaky, hot hand. I tore open his button-down, kissing down his wiry chest and reveling in his little moans – he was making _excellent_ noises. I rewarded him by bringing my tongue teasingly around his navel before finding his—

"_Ngh!"_

Jolting, I froze where I was, milliseconds away from climax, honing in on the familiar grunt.

"C-Craig?" came the timid voice.

"He's in here," a hushed tone assured him. "And you guys are sorting this out _now_."

I'd know that mischievous voice anywhere. McCormick, you are so very, very _dead_ when I get my hands on you…

"AUGH! Sorting _what_ out?? Kenny? _Ngh_, K-Kenny??" he nervously begged, and I couldn't hold it any longer – it was that _voice_.

Shooting my load, I moaned shortly as I heard the bathroom door close, clenching my jaw at the ecstasy and imagining briefly that this wouldn't end in the most awkward conversation ever. Tweek shrieked, and there was a _thud_. He most likely threw himself back at the door and was searching the bathroom for the source of the noise. In the back of my head, I wondered if I was fast – I wasn't exactly used to the action, and didn't really have anything to compare myself to. But I didn't know how long it took me just now anyway, so I guess I'd have to find out later. Hastily wiping my hands and dick clean with a length of toilet paper, I flushed the evidence down, yanking my pants up and leaving the stall.

"Hey, Tweek," I said casually, washing my hands vigorously and hoping there was nothing incriminating on my person. I couldn't look him in the eye – how could I? That was the first time I ever really thought about the jittery nut sexually, and I fucking _jerked off_ to him. There was no denial in my mind anymore about what I wanted, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him yet.

"What were you, _ngh_, doing?" he blurted before I could go on. He was indeed pressed up against the bathroom door, watching me with wavering, wide eyes. "Are you, _ngh_, okay??"

No way. 'Am I _okay_?' No. _Way_. Did he seriously not know what I was doing? How naïve, how guarded, how… hot.

Okay, _whoa_. Slow down, Craig. Think. _Think._

"I'm fine." So far, so good. "Just jacked off." FUCK MY HONESTY. "Um. What're you doing in here?" I awkwardly rebutted, attempting to hastily cover-up my misfire.

"AUGH! You were masturbating??" he stage whispered, undeterred. "What, _ngh_, what were you _possibly_ masturbating TO??"

Oh, the brutal innocence in that question. I so badly wanted to tell him the truth. Maybe it would make it easier to move in… or maybe it would simply complicate things. Because my thoughts were screaming, _You! You, you, you, you, you, you, _you!_ Who __else__?_

Damn, have I got it bad.

"What do you masturbate to?" I threw back without thinking.

"AHH! I dunno, _ngh_, coffee??"

I blinked. Wow. He actually answered. Weird answer, yeah, but not exactly unexpected. Another image of him touching himself made my face hot, and I quickly repeated, "What are you doing in here?"

"I wanted… to, _hrk_, know what you were doing. GAH!"

"Hmm," I hummed thoughtfully. He wasn't wearing my gloves anymore, I noted. I said the next thing that popped into my head. "You never told me what I could do to make up for everything."

Twitching severely, he opened his mouth to respond, meeting my icy blue gaze, and then clammed up, chomping into his lower lip, thinking. After a few moments of deliberation, he came to a decision. "_Hngh_, nothing."

Blinking, I frowned slightly. "'Nothing?' What do you mean, 'nothing?' There has to be _something_—"

"No!" he shouted, surprising me. "N-no," he reiterated, softer. "I don't want you to, _urk_, owe me anything." Gaze downcast, he shivered and took a deep breath. "I don't wanna, _ngh_, be closer to you just, _ngh_, cuz you're trying to stop—GAH!—feeling guilty…"

Oh shit. Does he think that's what it's about? Damn, I suck.

"Cuz if you wanna, _hrk_, apologize," he went on, clearly trying to sound authoritative, "…Then all I want, _ngh_, is a 'sorry.' PLEASE DON'T HATE ME! _Hrgck!_" Shutting his eyes, he gripped tightly at his hair, making odd noises through his teeth and quaking violently.

There go my heartstrings again.

"I don't hate you," I soothed him quietly, moving to him and once again removing his desperate fingers from his locks. "I don't. And I never meant to make you think I only felt bad, Tweek." He trembled feverishly, staring down at my hands around his frail wrists. "Lookit me," I murmured.

Emerald orbs quavered under my dark gaze, and I carefully bent down, setting a tender, soft kiss on his forehead.

"You are a brilliant, insecure, hectic, sweet, paranoid, and beautiful mess," I told him quietly, his stunned expression and vibrant blush sending thrills through my veins. "_That_ is why I want to make it up to you. _That's_ why I want to get to know you better."

"_Ngh_, okay, C-Craig," he murmured bashfully. I smiled.

-

The rest of the day was a blur, because I wasn't thinking about anything but him. I followed him to choir again, and he noticed this time, avoiding my gaze but singing stronger than he had the day before. Kenny wouldn't shut up about the incident at lunch, but I wouldn't give him any details (because next to nothing happened anyway), and poor Tweek was too flustered to give a coherent response. The whole rest of the day, I wanted to hold his hand (he had both in my gloves again), to plant just one more kiss on his fiery skin, but restrained myself. He reacted well enough at lunch, but I got the distinct impression that any more would be just a little too stressful. Yet another thing for me to consider was whether or not he actually _wanted_ this. Was I pushing this on him, and just bullying him in a whole new way? But I couldn't be – his nightmare told me _that_. He… he thought of me in the highest, even when I hated him. When he told me he didn't want me to 'make it up' to him, I knew.

He needed me. I will never understand why, but he _needs_ me.

-

A spur of the moment decision had me following Tweek home. He didn't notice me trailing after him, even when we turned down what I assumed to be his street. When I saw the glowing Harbucks sign, however, I realized he was probably going to work, rather than home. Monday's dream resurfaced in my head, and I smirked as déjà vu struck when I lithely slipped through the closing glass door after him. Quivering potently, he went behind the counter and around a corner, oblivious to my presence.

The earthy smell of coffee washed over me as the low, trendy music from ceiling speakers serenaded my slightly excited nerves. I breathed it in, and settled into a cushy armchair on one side of a wall of coffee-related merchandise – the gaps between travel mugs, thermoses, bags of grounds and beans left a decent view of the counter, where the current barista eyed me suspiciously, looking tired and wary. Tweek came out a few minutes later, and she skirted around him and to the back, grateful her shift was over.

A dark green apron was tied over his black polo shirt, and no one could say he didn't look damned good like that. Eyelid twitching, he bustled about for a minute, pressing buttons and pouring things into other things, completely focused on whatever he was making. After about five minutes, the girl he'd replaced at the counter came out from the back, pulling her arms through coat sleeves.

"Oh, _ngh_, Marissa!" he called out to her as she passed.

"Yeah?" she asked in an exhausted voice, rubbing her neck.

"Here," Tweek said, offering a steaming cardboard cup to her and twitching. "Thanks for, _hrk_, covering my shift the other, _ngh_, day," he went on, and she carefully took it from him, smiling kindly. "I made sure it was that, _ngh_, that organic Colombian blend you—GAH!—like."

"Thanks, Tweek." She took a sip, and smiled warmly. "Perfect. You're a good kid." Waving, she exited, looking in a considerably better mood than she had before. Smirking to myself, I mused, alleviated that I had been right in thinking I wasn't the only one he could make smile. Kenny didn't count – anyone could make Kenny smile.

"'Sup, Tweeky?" a cheerful voice greeted moments later.

Speak of the devil…

"AUGH! Kenny!"

Narrowing my gaze, I shifted in the overly comfortable chair and silently observed the two blondes interacting.

Kenny leaned forward onto the granite counter, grinning enthusiastically and speaking to the smaller boy in hushed tones I was lucky enough to hear. "So what'd he say, huh??" the hooded boy asked, bouncing on his heels with unexplainable excitement. "Didja ask?"

"Oh sweet _Jesus_, no!" Tweek whimpered, fidgeting with a flavored syrup pump. "How, _ngh_, how could I?? What if he just, _ngh_, laughed and stopped talking to, _ngh_, to me again??" What, no falling off hundred-foot cliffs? No FBI? No AIDS? "Or what if he called me – OH GOD, what if he called me a fag and _ngh_, hated me again?! I can't imagine, anything worse, _ngh_, than that!"

Oh. That explained the lack of AIDS panic. It also slapped me in the face and seized me by the shoulders, shouting, _You can't go in circles anymore, Craig! He practically confessed! It's TIME to __intervene__!_

"Ugh, that dick," Kenny muttered, annoyed. "No, chill, Tweek, he wouldn't hate you. He just…" he began, more sympathetic. Having difficulty finding the words, he sighed. "It's taken him some time, that's all."

"_Hrgck_, don't you mean it's, _ngh_, taking him some time??"

"Nope," Kenny chuckled.

That little son of a bitch is in for it. Anyone else would've understood what he was aiming at by now, but fortunately for me, Tweek couldn't accept possibilities that could potentially lead him to something good. It was part of who he was, and I was briefly saddened; _I_ was something good… wasn't I?

_Intervene!_

Springing up from my seat, I startled a pair of coffee house junkies on their laptops. They glared, and I returned the notion with a non-verbal "fuck you." Sneaking around the wall at an angle I was pretty sure I couldn't be seen from, I edged toward the urgent conversation, approaching slowly and acting more casual the closer I got.

"So you'll ask him soon, right?" the hooded boy compelled.

"_Ngh_, I, I…!" He bit into his lower lip, the distractible part of my brain wished it could've been me doing the biting.

"C'mon, Craig's not gonna—"

"'Craig's not gonna' _what_?" I challenged, cutting off Mr. Advice and looming behind him menacingly. "'Craig's not gonna kill Kenny?' Cuz he very well _might_," I threatened ominously in third person. Tweek let out a short, shrill scream, quickly clapping both hands over his mouth as Kenny slowly turned to face me, looking both anxious and triumphant. I narrowed my gaze. "Guess how long I've been standing here? Now who's the dick?" I dared him.

"Uh, still you," he said fearlessly, tension seeming to fade, his grin morphing into a smirk. "I'll leave you two alone." Slipping past my slightly bulkier frame, he left the shop with a flourishing wave.

Except for the two hipsters tapping away at their keyboards, Tweek and I were left alone in the coffee-intensive atmosphere of anticipation and awkwardness. My eyes drifted to his hands, which he still had covering his lips. My yellow gloves were probably in the back with the rest of his regular clothes, and I could see the fresh gauze we'd gotten him during Mentorship was holding up pretty well.

"You should probably wash your hands now," I recommended mildly, for something to say. "I'm no health code expert, but…" I raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

"ACK!" he yelped, pulling his hands back to gape at them. "You're, _ngh_, absolutely right!" Leaping to the sink, he flipped the hot water on, and it looked more like he was _scalding_ his hands clean rather than washing them. "Would you, _ngh_, like something?" he asked politely, in a true barista's voice. His embarrassment was plain, though, and I felt unnecessarily malicious.

"I'll have what you're having," I stated.

"_Hngh?_ But I'm not having anything," he countered, confused.

"So have something. 'S on me." I pulled a simple black wallet out of my back pocket, putting a ten down on the counter.

"Ahh!" he squealed, pushing the money back with shivering fingers. "No, it's okay, _urk_. Dad doesn't care how, _ngh_, how much coffee I have at work, so it's free—GAH!" He jumped back as I brushed his hand in hesitantly taking the cash back. An evil part of me loved his overreactions.

"You sure?" The coffee fiend nodded. "Thanks, Tweekers."

"OH JESUS!"

Smiling distantly, I watched him set to work on the coffee for a moment, before leaning backward onto the counter and folding my arms. Debating on whether or not to just come out and say it, I breathed in the warm aroma of the fresh coffee, fleetingly empathetic of my smaller, twitchy friend's obsession with the stuff. Heh.

My friend…

I wanted more than that. How the hell do I even bring it up, though? It's not like I don't know my "shift" occurred rapidly – though when I change my mind, even in the past, the effect was immediate – but what the fuck am I supposed to say that will be believable? I mean, it was already pretty farfetched that he didn't hold a grudge, and that I wanted to… atone for my sins (for lack of a better phrase), so why would he trust the words I wanted to speak? I knew _I_ wouldn't, if it were _me_ in his position.

Fuck.

"C-Craig? GAH!"

Looking over my shoulder, I was greeted with a piping hot cup of hazelnut mocha. Turning, I carefully took the steaming brew from his shaky, elegant fingers, putting it to my lips without delay. Rich, chocolaty, and whole, the scalding liquid flowed down my throat, filling my unsure, hollow chest with newfound confidence. A revolutionary energy coursed through my veins, and suddenly I understood how he could quake so seismically all the time – if he drank this crap constantly, and just one bloody _sip_ made me this energetic, I was frankly surprised he wasn't bouncing of the fucking walls. How much caffeine was _in_ this stuff?

"JESUS CHRIST MONKEY BALLS!" Tweek yelped, flying back and crashing into the opposite counter, pressing up against it as if to climb onto it backward and escape. Wide-eyed and twitching, he pointed an accusatory arm at me. "You – you're _grinning_, C-Craig! AUGH!"

I blinked. So _that's_ what that funny feeling on my face was. I hadn't grinned in _years_.

"So I am," I agreed mildly, forcing it to relax slightly, unwilling to scare him anymore. Admittedly, the idea of me grinning _was_ pretty terrifying. "This is fucking fantastic, Tweek," I praised him, gulping down another mouthful. Before now, I'd been pretty neutral on the subject of coffee. It's not like I'd never had it before, but whenever I did, it was just a caffeine fix. The concept of _delicious_ or not never really came up. "This is your favorite, right?" I asked conversationally, the notion of small talk no longer seeming unattainable.

"Yeah, _ngh_, hazelnut mocha with an extra, _ngh_, shot of espresso—ACK!" he timidly replied, watching me with a worried, sideways stare. Okay, so this weird feeling was making me act a little out of character, but did he have to look so damned _suspicious_? "You… really,_ urk,_ like it?"

Nodding, I successfully toned my ridiculous grin down to a less freaky smile. "C'mere," I instructed flatly.

"OH JESUS! Please don't, _ngh_, kill me!" he pleaded shrilly, trembling violently as he hesitantly made his way forward.

Rolling my eyes, I set my coffee cup down briefly, and, reaching across the space between us, playfully tousled his chaotic hair. "You're so cute," I informed him thoughtlessly.

The room seemed to freeze, as if my words had hit the pause button on some cosmic remote. Tweek's humongous emerald orbs slowly flew open after having shut at my touch, and all I could do was gawk blankly back at his incredulous face.

Shit.

Shit, SHIT, **SHIT**.

"Cute?" he echoed in an impossibly small voice, cheeks flaring a vibrant scarlet.  
"M-me??" The world seemed to fall back into normal time, and he started breathing heavily, dropping his gaze simultaneously to the faux-marble surface underneath his bandaged hands. "SWEET JESUS! I'm, _hngh_, hearing things!" he cried in distress, fingers knotting habitually in his golden locks. It was then that I noticed I had yet to remove my own hand – I quickly withdrew, still sort-of stupefied by my blatant words. All I could do was stare, monitor his panic attack, and hopefully avoid worsening it. "I must be , _ngh_, crazy! I'll hafta get a psychiatrist – but I can't _afford_ a psychiatrist! OH GOD, my parents would disown me, _ngh_, and I'd hafta live on, _ngh_, the streets, and do my homework—GAH!—on cardboard boxes, and then you'd—" He gasped theatrically, officially escalating my concern. "Then you'd, _ngh_, stop talking to me!" Yanking desperately on his hair, he automatically ducked under my attempts to pry his fingers away again. "I DON'T WANT YOU TO STOP TALKING TO ME, OH CHRIST!" he screeched, twisting at his torso and whimpering. My heart felt like it was cracking in two, and I almost felt helpless, _useless_ to stop his hysteria. "Please don't, _ngh_, don't leave me alone!" he begged dismally, head snapping up to stare at me with wild, despairing eyes, reminding me of Monday in the nurse's office.

"_OH GOD – _please_ don't leave me, _ngh_, __alone__!"_

That does it. Fuck logic. He's under _my_ protection, dammit, and not only would Hell have to freeze over and Switzerland declare war on Sweden, but Cartman would have to lose 120 pounds AND stop being a neo-Nazi before I let this kid hurt again, _especially_ by my hand.

Here's hoping I knew what I was doing.

"Oh man, oh man, oh _man_," he continued to fret, "I'm so _st_—mmpff?!"

I cut him off, silencing him before he could cut himself down anymore. Seizing the back of his neck, I brought his beautiful face up to me and crushed his quivering lips under mine. I bet in all those drastic scenarios racing through his hyper brain, not one involved me kissing him. The edge of the counter was cutting into my abdomen, but I couldn't have given a rat's ass. Moving ever so slightly against his burning lips and tossing out every inclination toward _bad idea_, I allowed myself to breathe him in, wishing he would at least _react_. I knew it was kind-of out of nowhere, but surely his thoughts had caught up by now? Good thing I could be patient sometimes. After a few more seconds of bewilderedly imitating a statue, I felt him start to naturally tremble again, secretly elated it wasn't as drastic as it could've been and wondering if maybe my hands were _too_ cold.

He squeaked in delayed shock, but soon began moving with me. He came closer of his own, nervous free will, and I was vaguely aware of him climbing onto the counter. No way could he tell himself I still hated him now – not when he'd plucked up the courage to kiss back, a flicking of eagerness in his taste. I felt myself smile into our quickening lip-lock.

Running the tip of my tongue along his bottom lip, I cautiously requested entry, off-handedly grateful for the two girlfriends I'd had before, if only for the experience. Squeaking again, he hesitantly parted his chapped lips, shyly inviting my excited tongue in. I obliged, thrilled to no end, proud of his initiative. Teasing his hot tongue with my own, I enticed him to lean into me, pulling him further down and supporting myself with my free hand. Fuck – he tasted like that amazing coffee, and… and… what is that? Paranoia? Self-consciousness? Relief?

Breaking the heated dance between our mouths, I met his half-lidded, dazed eyes and smirked.

"That should clear up any confusion you might have about what I think of you," I stated lowly, former arrogance seeping into the tone. "Thank you for letting me," I whispered softly in addition, briefly resting my forehead on his. The first real anxieties of my actions began to set in, and I slid my hand off his fiery skin, carefully backing up and sweeping up my coffee – the coffee he'd made – heading for the door.

"AUGH! W-wait, C-Craig!" he stammered, regaining self-awareness.

Turning, I said, "Yeah?"

"_Hrgck_," he choked. As I had suspected, he was perched on his knees atop the cashier counter, bright pink and clearly flustered. "…Really?" he quietly wondered, and I knew he was still afraid of being tricked. His experiences _would_ lead him to believe it was all false.

"Really-really," I murmured in assurance, smirking. "See you tonight. You should probably get down now," I noted.

"GAH!" Scrambling down, he straightened out his perfectly crisp apron, brushing off imaginary dust. The two people remaining in the shop were watching with uneasy interest, and he shrieked as he caught on to their attention.

Flipping the pair off for good measure, I chuckled. God, did I hope I knew what the fuck I was doing.

-

What would Kenny do?

The revelation of the possible mistake/breakthrough I'd made finally hit me when I was nearly halfway home.

There were three things I knew for sure.

First: Tweek _definitely_ liked me back.

Second: That was a _damned_ good first kiss.

Third: I needed to call Kenny. Like, _now._

As I fumbled around in my pockets looking for my wallet so I could get inside my locked house, I flipped open my phone and almost broke the number pad, punching through my contacts urgently. Finding the advice-giver's name on the list at last, I jabbed the 'talk' button with my thumb, cradling the cell between my shoulder and ear as I pulled my key out and shoved it in the deadbolt.

"So how'd your _coffee_ taste?" Kenny slyly greeted upon picking up.

"I'm flipping you off right now, prick," I lied, my hands too busy taking my coat and bag off to actually do it.

"'Fuck you' works, too—"

"Fuck you, then, McCormick."

"So what happened, dude?" he enthused, chuckling at the flatness of my insult. "Didja take that second chance I keep tellin' ya 'bout?"

"Dude." Kicking my shoes off, I ran a hand through my flattened hair, throwing my hat at the staircase and swallowing the last of the nutty coffee in two massive gulps. Standing in place, I jittered my leg with extra energy, the effects of the caffeine hitting my inactive muscles. "Fuck, man," I groaned. "I – I fuckin' _kissed_ him!"

His jubilant laughter sounded, and he announced, "I knew it!" Without missing a beat, he asked, "How was it??"

"…It was brilliant," I murmured, smiling distantly to myself. "Really, really brilliant…"

* * *

**A/N II**: Oh. My. Motherfucking God. I am SO PISSED right now. Not even at my story – I edited this like, twice, and FFnet DIDN'T SAVE IT. lcnvbijheuosriawpjofdvq29809-021p[-!! See, I normally have a regular A/N at this bottom bit, but since my computer is fapping and my sister lives on FaceBook, I got kicked off before I had time to edit again; I'm adding this on my mom's computer, so it's not on my original upload, and I was too excited to copy it before I wandered over to deviantArt on another tab, so I guess has a problem with deviantArt or something, because it pretended I didn't make any changes! TT_TT

**EDITED AT LAST!**


	13. What Makes You Happy

Firstly**, ZOMG, 208 REVIEWS?! OMGWTFBBQ, I AM SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW. JESUS CHRIST, YOU GUYS KICK SO MUCH ASS.  
**

**A/N: **FUCK, BROS. THREE NEW FANARTS, WTF THEY ARE SO SUPER SEXY!! X3 =D

Yet every time I try to post links here on FFnet, they get royally fucked-up, and all that's left is, like, the last 20 characters of the web address. ._. =_=' So, um, I dunno what to do about that. OH WAIT, I LIED. Okay, go to (.com) and links will be in the journal entry titled "What Makes You Happy." =D YAY, I wish I could put links in here, though. I hate extra myself (cuz I'm so amazingly lazy), so I'm annoyed myself that I can't manage to not let FFnet fail me and my beautiful FanArts! D= TT_TT

Sorry this took so long, guys! D= There's so much finals prep going on, I've actually been doing things like homework. O_O (I know, the very _thought_!) (That was a jibe at me, by the way -- I like, never do my homework. XD )

Anyway, read on! =3

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Tweek's P.O.V._

What Makes You Happy

My lips were tingling with a terrified delight, my tongue numb from contact with his, my heartbeat out of control, slamming against my ribs erratically and inciting me to clutch at its place over my apron. The air in my lungs came unevenly, and my shaking intensified drastically, knocking my bony knees together and nearly making me lose my already faltering balance. Stumbling into the espresso machine, I tried taking deep breaths like he'd told me to over the phone, but to no avail. There were only two customers in the shop, and they had seen _everything_ – thankfully, before this fact could truly sink in, they packed up their laptops and quickly exited, sending furtive glances my way the entire time. For once, I didn't let myself watch them leave, forcing myself to shut my eyes and pretend they weren't off to blog about the incident and make me a notorious internet name. OH GOD, that would be _way_ too much _pressure_! But oh Jesus, if I'm under pressure, it's because Craig _kissed_ me!

Why would he do that?! He couldn't have been _serious_. But he said 'really-really,' and he _always_ meant it when he said 'really.' He wouldn't start lying about _that_, would he? But if he meant it, that would mean – OH SWEET JESUS!

That would mean he actually _likes_ me! You kiss people you _like_, right?

Squealing girlishly, I clapped both hands over my mouth and let my wobbling knees take me to the floor. My whole head was hot, and I knew it meant I was blushing harder than I had ever blushed before. I dared to glance down at my jeans, and bit down harshly on my tongue to keep from shrieking; I had a full-on erection, and if I were to stand, it would be more than obvious. Struggling against a spazz attack, I peeked over the countertop to check if any customers had come in, and upon seeing none, I dashed to the back room. This was a problem that needed to be dealt with – it was too big to ignore, unfortunately for me, and whatever I would decide to do about it would have to be _fast_!

Stumbling on the tile, I quickly undid my pants, investigating the approximate urgency of the current issue. To my immanent horror, my cock was swollen dangerously, and I made a noise akin to a grunt-squeal. Holding my fly shut, I dove out of the room and scrambled for the bathroom – I was going to need a little more privacy, because what if Marissa had forgotten something and came back to get it? Oh Jesus, she'd see me, and then call my dad, and he'd fire me and ground me _forever_! I'd die of caffeine withdrawal and have tell everybody in Hell the lame way I died – OH MAN, I don't _wanna_ go to Hell! It's way too much _pressure_!

The door slammed shut behind me, and I basically slapped the lock into place, tearing my pants down and ripping off my apron, wriggling out of my underwear.

Now, you may think I wouldn't ever masturbate because of the pressure – OH GOD, SO MUCH PRESSURE – but I'm still a _guy_, and I have sick, dirty thoughts sometimes, too, mostly (okay, _always_) about Craig. When I could control my fantasies, Craig was there, touching me or being unfairly sexy around me, and now that he's _kissed_ me…! What _else_ am I supposed to do to get rid of this awful boner?? As frantic paranoia of being discovered filled my head, I tried to take deep breaths again, reminding myself that if I didn't want to die of coffee deficiency, I'd better hurry. Touching myself was dangerous, because part of me was scared Craig would find out I was doing it, and then he'd think I was gross – but didn't he _tell_ me _he_ doing it at lunch today?? Oh god, Craig _touching himself_ – AUGH! Shit, I gotta be fast!

It was too late to stop myself, and with a small whimper, I brought my hand in the up-and-down motion required to satisfy my freaky needs. Visions of his beautiful face enveloped my consciousness, and my free hand had to come up over my mouth to stifle a short moan; I could still feel his cool lips on mine, and the sheer joy lingered, my hazelnut mocha seeming ten times more delicious now that his tongue had tasted of it. Stroking at as even a pace as I could manage with my stressed twitching, I savored the memory on my skin where he had held my neck, and helplessly succumbed to conjured images in which his wonderful cold hands went elsewhere. I nearly fell over, close to coming, as my Hero Craig chugged coffee and then stole a long kiss from me (not that I minded), his manly hands snaking down my back to find my ass. He leaned into me and groped; I gripped desperately at his shirt, eagerly letting him take control. Soon I was pressed up against a wall, and before I could panic about being squished, before he could migrate to my groin (where he seemed to be headed), someone knocked on the bathroom door.

Shrieking, I finally ejaculated – but while it was all over my hand, I was still four feet from the sink. "AUGH! Jesus Christ – just a, _ngh_, second! I'll—GAH!—be right out!"

"Oh, good. It _is_ you, Tweek!" chirped a familiar voice in relief.

"OH GOD! _Butters_??" Lunging forward, I attempted to reach the sink without tripping on my pants, but of course, since I was thinking so much about it, I failed miserably; crying out, I landed on my side, my hand having missed the edge of the porcelain by centimeters.

"Are you all right in there, Tweek?" the kind blonde asked, genuinely concerned.

"_Hrgck_, fine!" I lied, shoulder aching once more as I forced my pants up and rolled onto my front so I could get up; in short jerks, I managed to wash my hands and compose myself as much as humanly possible for me. My hip and shoulder throbbed from my tumble, and my gauze was now disgusting, but otherwise I looked like I always did – unkempt, but clean. Tearing off the bandages on my right hand and disposing of them, I threw open the restroom door to be greeted by a startled Butters. "H-hello!" I stuttered.

"Gee, Tweek. You're blushin' awful bright," he noted innocently, smiling. "Were you…?" He tapped his inner thigh briefly, replicating a motion I'd recently used and shortly crossing his arms. Sweet _Jesus_, even BUTTERS knows that stuff! AND he could _tell_!

"ACK! Nothing!" I replied loudly, realizing after the fact that it was the incorrect response. "_Ngh_, I mean, um—"

"It's okay, Tweek. Your secret's safe with me." His bright smile made me whimper anxiously, and I bit down on my lip as I tugged bashfully on my apron, gazing shamefaced at the waxed floor. "Anyway, did Kenny stop by? Only, I – I kinda wanna talk to him," the boy inquired carefully, rubbing the back of his thin neck and avoiding a stare I wasn't issuing.

"Kenny?" I echoed dumbly, letting myself look at him. "Yeah, he, _ngh_, came by a few, _ngh_, minutes ago…" With a twitching eyelid, I offered him a small smile. "Are you two… _urk_?" OH GOD, I fail at suggestion! It's _way_ too much pressure to try being sly!

Butters' head snapped up, and he flushed vibrantly. "Gee, Tweek, um, I don't, um…" he trailed off, looking defeated; I twitched. "Oh hamburgers," the slightly smaller boy mumbled. Setting his jaw, he met my ugly green eyes confidently, soft blue making me jerk backward into the bathroom door. "Don't tell him I like him, okay?" he requested forcefully. "I'm… I'm waiting for him to ask," he added quietly, dropping his determination and instead becoming sad.

"I won't, _ngh_, tell," I assured him, recalling a certain muffin purchase from Monday. "Your secret's safe with—GAH!—with me," I went on in a stage whisper.

Smiling gratefully, he moved aside as if to let me pass. "I think I'm ready for something yummy to drink," he said lightly.

"ACK! Okay!" Skirting around him, I headed back behind the counter, asking what he wanted. Quickly setting to work, I began making him a frappuccino, fidgeting with my fingers as I waited for the blender to finish its job. When I returned to the register, sliding the beverage over to him, he was watching me expectantly. "OH GOD, _ngh_, what??" I blurted, the attention terrifying.

"Um, I was asking you how it was going with Craig," he told me, giggling awkwardly. "I mean, I know how you like him 'n everything—"

"GAH!" I interrupted, the cash he'd handed me raining down as I flung it in the air in shock. "What?! You—" I leaned forward, trying my best to be inconspicuous. What if there was a sneaky customer, listening in behind a corner? "—you _know_??"

Nodding, he said, "I guessed, actually. It's the way you look at him. You look at him…" He searched for the word. "You look at him adoringly. No, fudge, not _adoringly_…" Frowning in thought, he slurped his icy drink. When he didn't continue straightaway, the nerves in me built up, and I whined with anticipation; smiling a little, he came to a decision. "You look at him with longing… with self-consciousness, and trust, and… there's happiness in there, too, even though there didn't used to be." Tilting his flaxen head, he concluded, "You look at him lovingly."

"OH JESUS!" Was it _that_ obvious?? Was he channeling Kenny?? Did I really wear my heart on my sleeve?? Oh god, what if it was even on my _forehead_?! Oh no, ANYONE could see right through me! I could only hope _Craig_ couldn't…

"Tweek?"

"AUGH!"

"Well, gee, I didn't mean to fluster you!" Butters apologized, "I was just sayin'. I'm sorry!"

"_Hngh_, no, it's okay – I'm okay," I hastily covered-up, evading his eyes and habitually rubbing my upper arm. "You just, _ngh_, surprised me," I explained, blushing nervously. "It's, _ngh_, okay."

Looking skeptical, he cautiously said, "Well, I gotta be goin', but if you need someone to talk to…" He tentatively smiled, pulling out his cell phone and pressing a few buttons. "Can I have your number?"

"WHAT?!" I shouted stupidly, automatically yanking my hair. _Jesus Christ, I'm going deaf!_ I panicked internally, my shivering increasing uncontrollably. "Too much pressuuuurrre!" I strained.

Eyes widening, Butters quickly reiterated, "Gosh, then could I give you mine?"

"Why, _ngh_?" I questioned in unreasonable suspicion. What if it was really the number for a Chinese mafia boss, and he got angry when I called, and sent his men to "collect" me, so they came and _kidnapped_ me, and forced me to make coffee for them FOREVER?! Oh god, I don't _wanna_ be the mafia's coffee slave!

"Well, it's just that maybe Kenny is hard to talk to sometimes," he elaborated, setting his mobile on the counter. "He's super nice and really funny, but… too eager sometimes, do you know what I am saying?"

"Oh man, _hrk_, you're totally right! It is _so much pressure_, _ngh_, to talk to him!" I whined, my trembling making me pull even harder on my messy hair.

"So you can talk to me!" Butters suggested happily. Sliding his phone toward me, he added, "Here's my number," as I cried out.

Hesitantly, I pulled my own phone out of my pocket and slowly put him in my contacts, taking extra care to steady myself so I didn't put in the wrong numbers. I had another name on my list, and a tiny smile sneaked onto my lips. Maybe I really _could_ make friends.

-

On my way home at around eight, all I could think about was Craig's kiss. _He kissed me, he kissed me, he kissed me,_ my head chanted. He doesn't hate me – he _hasn't_ hated me in a long time – and finally, I could believe him. Finally, I could let myself be a little bit… happy.

Inside my house not but two minutes later, I went to the kitchen to make fresh coffee, ignored by my mother even as I greeted her on the way; she was reading a Harbucks newsletter at the table, either completely engrossed in it or completely disinterested in me. My guess was the latter, since it seemed to be the case every other day, regardless of what she was doing. At least she didn't greet me with a string of metaphors. My parents had probably eaten dinner already, so I scrounged through the refrigerator for something substantial among the coffee-construction products and various condiments. Usually I wasn't very hungry, but the excitement of the afternoon made me particularly antsy for something to eat. Finding nothing but coffee grounds, creamers, and caramel, I sighed, accidentally slamming the fridge shut as I jerked upright. Luckily for my empty stomach, the cupboards held bread and peanut butter, so I made myself a peanut butter sandwich.

Fretting over the stickiness on the roof of my mouth (JESUS, what if it glued my mouth to my tongue and I couldn't talk when I saw Craig at the bus stop??), I trudged weakly up the stairs to hide in my room, away from the apathetic, glazed gaze of my mother, wondering vaguely where my father was.

My lips felt hot, and not just from the scalding brew I was enjoying, but from the recurring sensation of thrill from the raven-haired boy's unexpected contact. Oh god, I hope I didn't seem too eager when I tried kissing back – OH JESUS! What if I sucked total ass?? Oh man, that would be just my luck! What if he changed his mind entirely because I was no good at kissing? Christ, I can't do _anything_ right!

A familiar piano piece sounded from my pocket, and I was so shocked, I nearly choked on my last bite of sandwich. Swallowing dryly, I fumbled around, smacking at my clothes in search of the music's source; finally pulling my phone out, I unintentionally let out a squeal of secret delight.

Craig was calling me! Oh god, oh Jesus, oh shit oh shit oh shit – what do I say?? How do I react? Would he want to talk about how I was an awful kisser? Was he going to tell me he didn't mean anything by it, that I should just forget it ever happened? What if he wanted nothing to do with me anymore? Jesus CHRIST, that would be worse than him hating me again! At least if he were to hate me again, I could still be near him, even if he started bullying me like he used to.

Continuing to panic internally, I carefully flipped open the cell and held it up to my ear, heart racing with anticipation and anxiety. "_Hrgck_, hello?" I attempted, screwing up immediately. "ACK!"

"'Sup, Tweek?" he replied casually, nothing particularly revealing in his amazing, quiet voice.

"AUGH, HI C-CRAIG," I shouted spastically, quivering where I sat. _Crap_, I'm stupid! "Um, what's, _ngh_, up?" I parroted weakly, hoping I didn't sound like I was trying too hard.

"So about that thing in the coffee shop—" he began swiftly.

"OH SWEET JESUS! I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND IF YOU WANT ME TO FORGET!" I interjected loudly, inadvertently.

"I wanted to tell you I was serious," he went on without faltering at my volume and accusation.

My breath hitched in my throat, and I struggled for air in stunned silence. Oh god, was I dreaming again?? Was the _kiss_ a dream?? Am I asleep on the bus or something—OH NO! I'm gonna get locked in the bus garage just like Craig! AUGH! "Wake up, wake up, _ngh_, wake up!" I pleaded with myself despairingly, smacking my head in frustration. Hero Craig – the only Craig that would ever possibly kiss me – was imaginary. I _had_ to be dreaming! But if I was…

Where were all the monsters?

"Hey, hey, calm down," Craig's voice soothed patiently. "Do you – you don't think this is real?" he asked, almost upset. "Dude. This is real. You aren't hallucinating or anything," he murmured, "I wouldn't lie to you about that, either."

"ACK! But what if—"

He cut me off. "No 'what ifs.' I—" he started sharply, but stopped. "I… Jesus. Don't freak out okay?"

"I—GAH!—I can't make any, _ngh_, promises," I confessed honestly, tugging sporadically at my unkempt locks and gnawing nervously on my lower lip.

"Would you like to see a movie sometime?" he asked hastily, seeming embarrassed.

Shrieking, my pulse skyrocketing, I emitted a dramatic gasp. Did he mean what I _thought_ he meant?? No – what I _wanted_ him to mean?! Hyperventilating, I reached for the mug of coffee I'd prepared only a few minutes ago. Slurping half of it noisily, I tried to calm my frantic thoughts and quell my distress simultaneously. You'd think they'd go hand-in-hand, but I'm a freak, remember? "C-Craig? Are you, _ngh_, sure?" I ask carefully, in case he's being forced to call me because some pervert with a knife was threatening to shank him or rape him – OH GOD – if he didn't call. "Because if you're, _hrk_, being held hostage by a, _ngh_, a psycho with a shank – GAH! – just say 'yes' and I'll call the, _ngh_, police!" I offered in a hushed whisper, afraid the nut might overhear and preemptively stab the icy-eyed boy.

"What," he demanded flatly. "Dude, there's no guy with any shank, all right? I'm completely serious," he sighed tiredly.

"_Hngh_," I grunted lamely in response.

"Can't I wanna hang out with you?" he asked dubiously, "Cuz I think you're… well, sweet. And brilliant. And a fucking _fantastic_ kisser—"

"OH SWEET JESUS, _what?!_"

"I mean! Uh – no, I mean exactly what I said," he reiterated confidently. "…I'd do it again, if you like," he added evenly, voice back to its usual, quiet cool. I squeaked.

"Really…?" I uttered, instinctively challenging his sincerity.

"Really-really," he chuckled lightly. "So is that a 'yes,' then, Tweek?"

"_Zzzzzzeeerrrgh_," I simpered pathetically, my leg bouncing. A blush grew steadily brighter in my cheeks as I burst out with, "Yes, _ngh_, please!" _This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this is a dream come true without the demons!_ I rejoiced silently. Was I actually getting my Hero Craig??

There was movement on his end of the line, and I imagined him making himself comfortable, casually yet elegantly spread out on his bed. "Cool," he murmured, and I pretended I could hear a small smile in his voice. "Hey, I'll see you tonight, yeah?"

"W-what?? How will you, _ngh_, do that??" I breathed, confused.

"I'm assuming Damien is going to have a say in our dreams tonight," he explained, a tad irate. "Wow, that sounds stupid. Anyway, hope to see you there."

"_Ngh_, too much _pressure_!" I automatically groaned, yanking at my hair again.

"Oh, and did you replace your bandages like I said you should?" he went on, firm but concerned.

My chest swelled with anxious joy (he _cares!_), and I shamefully mumbled, "No, _hrk_, not yet…"

"I stuck some in your bag. Go ahead and use them," he suggested simply. "If it's difficult, I'll help you in the morning to fix it 'n stuff." He paused. "You gotta heal, Tweek."

"Okay, C-Craig," I stammered shyly, his concern making me flush again.

"And – try to get some sleep tonight," he added softer, "I get the feeling the last two nights were a fluke." I grunted awkwardly, sipping my coffee anxiously. "Like, maybe that should be your last cup for the night," Craig recommended lowly, probably anticipating a scream.

"Ahh! How did you know I, _ngh_, I was drinking coffee?! I NEED MY COFFEE, C-CRAIG!" I shrieked into the receiver, true to his suspicions. "How did you—GAH!—_know_??" I wailed again, grasping protectively at my mug.

"Uh," he began skeptically. "Really? Do I even need to tell you?" he questioned disbelievingly.

Fidgeting with my shirt hem, I cautiously answered, "W-well, _ngh_, no. I guess it's kinda, _hrk_ obvious…"

"Don't take that the wrong way," the gorgeous raven hastily insisted, and I squeaked. "I just mean that I want you to be… healthier, y'know? I don't want you to give up coffee or anything – I don't want you to become completely different. Your twitching is so damned _adorable_, anyway." I yelped in surprise, twitching as if on cue. "But one of the reasons I was trying to get you to stand up straighter was so you'd narrow your chances of back problems in the future.

"GAH! What d'you, _ngh_, mean?"

"My mom and grandparents love reminding me that they hunched and slouched when they were kids. They all have some pretty bad back problems," he elaborated. "My mom's only 42. She said something about ulcers and caffeine, too. Something about not eating enough," he went on offhandedly.

"AUGH, I don't _want_ an ulcer!" I informed him hysterically, holding my mug out and staring at it with accusatory wide eyes.

"Fuck," Craig swore lowly. "No, dude, don't panic, okay—"

"How could I, _ngh_, not panic?!" I challenged him inconsolably, placing my cup haphazardly on my dresser. "I have an ulcer!"

"No, you don't." His deadpan tone caused my muscles to momentarily freeze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he said more gently, apology painfully sincere. "I doubt that you've got an ulcer."

Whining pathetically, I experimentally prodded at my gut, still nervous my organs would break through at any moment. "Are you, _ngh_, sure? What if you're—ACK!—wrong??" I desperately cried.

"You'd be in a _hell_ of a lot more pain if you had an ulcer, Tweekers. Trust me," he murmured wearily, his last two words imploring.

"Oh," I responded dumbly, my eyelid quivering. "Okay, C-Craig…" Someday, I would be able to say his name without stuttering like a moron.

"…Goodnight, Tweekers," his quiet voice murmured. "See ya 'round."

Even though he couldn't see it, I let myself smile a little. "Goodnight, _hngh_, C-Craig!"

-

_How nice of you to join us,_ a dark, sarcastic voice echoed. _'Bout time._

Stark white enveloped my whole body, and I could feel absolutely nothing – not cold, not heat, not discomfort or pain or pressure.

It was _terrifying!_

It was like floating in a blank abyss, my limbs drifting slack around me. My lungs didn't seem to need air, but I was suffocating on the utter emptiness. It felt like an eternity passed before I could muster up the courage to speak.

"Where am I??" I screamed, panic gripping my vocal chords. "Oh god – are you FBI?! Ahh, I don't wanna, _ngh_, be an experiment! Let me out!" Writhing, I found I wasn't restrained or constricted in any way, and scared myself as I shot forward. Where forward went, I don't know, but the motion felt alien. "Please let me, _ngh_, out!" I begged haplessly, flailing my arms uselessly and shaking like a leaf in midair – if there even _was_ any air. "Was it, _hrk_, something I did? I didn't, _ngh_, mean to! SWEET JESUS – I'm so sorry!" I screeched, clutching at my hair.

_Now, now, what would Craig say?_ tsked the voice, amused.

"AUGH!"

_Stop bloody _spazzing_ for a minute. Just chill the fuck out and take a look_, the voice chided, starting to sound irate. _Oh, and this part might hurt a smidgen._

My arms were wrenched from my skull, and my legs jerked out straight; it was as though someone was pulling on them mercilessly, trying to tear them from my frail body, and soon my chest began stretching in the same manner, as if my diaphragm was rejecting every other part of me in a perfect circle. The sensation was one of the most painful things I'd ever felt in my life, a searing heat ripping me apart. A pounding in my brain throbbed, malignant in its intensity. I screamed bloody murder.

The flawless white seemed to shift, if that makes sense, and color leeched in all around me. I instinctively brought my legs to my chest as they were released from whatever invisible hold had been had on them, hugging them tightly with my arms, my toes curling. The colors jumped in short bursts, warping and adjusting to form something comprehensive; soon I was in someone's house, a large room painted bright blue – a familiar blue – which scarce amount of leisure furniture attempted to fill. There was an odd smell in the air, somewhat recognizable to my sensitive nostrils. It wasn't bad, but… disconcerting. Then again, I find most _everything_ disconcerting, but this certain disconcerting was… really wrong. I couldn't even name it. Oh Jesus, I'm not even making sense to myself!

Just as I was starting to get my bearings, something happened; a round, ginger man walked in from nowhere (there weren't any _doors_!) and stood behind a couch, blank-faced. His presence startled me, and I shrieked, leaping back and going right through a wooden chair that remained still and unaffected. I was _in the chair_, but that wasn't even the weirdest part – the man didn't seem to notice or hear me. But before I could freak out, I caught a whiff of him off the breath he noisily exhaled, and tensed.

The disquiet was coming from _him._

Who _was_ he??

_Be patient, Tweeky._

"_Ngh_," I responded. "What'll I do if, _urk_, he sees me??"

_Dude, You're standing in a chair – IN a chair. He can't see, hear, or feel you. You're just… __visiting__, as it were…_

"AUGH, that is _way_ too much pressure!"

"What are you doing, boy? The fat man suddenly said, his voice rough and suspicious. "Get out or here."

I yelped, afraid he was talking to _me_, but someone else spoke.

"I haven't done anything," Craig's quiet defiance replied, and I leaned sideways to seem him laid out across the couch in front of the strange-smelling man. "I'm just lying here."

"Don't you have anything _better_ to do, you little _shit_?" spat the fat man, heat rising in his tone. "Get off my sofa, punk."

Sighing, clearly unwilling to argue, Craig hefted himself to his feet, walking around the furniture, toward the unseen exit. But he was seized by his jacket collar, and jerked roughly back; it was now that I could see he was about twelve years old, smaller than he was now, his hair slightly longer. His hat fell off, and I saw his beautiful eyes angrily watch it fall, but if he had been upset, he didn't get a chance to show it.

"Don't you back-talk me, piss-ant _fucker_!"

A hand flew across his face abruptly, making me gasp in shock; Craig sucked in sharply through his braced teeth, holding the side of his face with one hand and using the other to try pushing the large man's grip off. I was so amazingly confused – why did he hit him?? He didn't even do anything! He hardly even _spoke_! I gawked dumbly as the younger version of my infatuation turned his face away, eyes hurt and betrayed; he shut them as the man sneered in disgust, throwing him back.

"Should've aborted you when I had the chance," growled the red-haired blob. "You're lucky I love your mother."

ABORTED?! Is that man his—

_Daddy dearest? I'm afraid so._ The voice was solemn.

The horrible man turned and exited, grumbling darkly about how worthless his smart-ass son was and stepping deliberately on Craig's chullo. Craig stood still, waiting for his father to disappear before diving for his hat and yanking it precariously back onto his head, his cheek hot pink from the hit, his expression stony as he flicked his middle finger in the direction his dad had left.

His image wavered, and the setting dissolved; I realized I had moved forward with my arm reaching out to him only when I was suddenly on the football pitch at our old middle school. Drawing back and yelping automatically, I was faced with a vaguely familiar sight.

Craig, Clyde, Token and Jimmy were playing touch football against Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman. Kenny wasn't wearing a muffler, so I guessed we were in eighth grade by now. They were ramming into each other and falling down constantly; I had to fight the urge to hide behind the small set of bleachers. Stan called for a time-out, and then I was looking at myself.

Jolting, I watched as a slightly younger me twitched past at a slight distance, gulping down coffee from my trusty lime green thermos, going god knows where – the scene was fuzzy beyond my figure. Littler me caught Craig's attention with an accidental shriek, and he paused on his way to a bench, just staring after me. Evidently oblivious, I continued on my not-so-merry way, and Clyde went over the black-haired boy, eyes on my shaky, retreating form as well.

"Dude," the brunette began. "You just gonna watch?"

"Just leave him alone," Kenny sighed, rolling his oceanic eyes.

Craig remained silent, flipping them both off. As I came close to rounding a corner of an out-of-focus building, he clenched his fists, scowling. Yet, the scowl wasn't vicious, more – more _torn_?

"Why d'ya gotta rip on him, dude?" Stan asked sincerely. "Isn't it getting a little, y'know, _old_?" he wondered half-heartedly.

"…I gotta," he stated quietly, flipping him the bird as well. "I just – I gotta," he repeated to himself, seeming unsure. "Hey, Spazmoid, wait up!" he called out, jogging to get to me, his arrogant and snide tone in place. All my pathetic self could do was shriek again and freeze, staring stupefied as he approached to torment me.

Shapes distorted bizarrely, and once again I was thrown into another place, this time a well-lit kitchen, painted a cherry red around the edges of cupboards and appliances. A blonde woman with a long skirt on and her hair pulled back was busily hurrying around, pots on the stove steaming, as she hummed an old tune I vaguely recognized. A small girl with strawberry blonde curls bounced into the room, and I remembered her name was Ruby, Craig's little sister. Upon checking twice, I let out a startled squeal – she looked just like her mother, and just like Craig. The woman, her mother, turned as she entered, and smiled a bright if not tired smile.

"Hi mommy," Ruby said quickly, going a high cupboard and pulling down a bag of chips. She was tall, and could've been about twelve or thirteen. "Gonna do some homework," she told her through a mouthful of Ruffles, heading back out of the kitchen.

"All right, sweetie!" the beautiful woman called after her, leaning away from a pot that started boiling over. She gasped, quickly turning off the burner it sat on and jumping when she heard shuffling feet. Turning suddenly, she breathily sighed, "Craig! Hi, honey."

Craig was standing in the kitchen doorway, still wearing a scarf I hadn't seen in months. He would be sixteen now. He just stood there, watching his mother with no expression. She stared back, still smiling, and he lowly said, "Hi, mom."

"Have you been there the whole time?" she asked carefully, genuinely amused nonetheless. "C'mere, you." Opening her arms, she waited patiently as he moved shyly toward his mother.

Slowly, he welcomed her embrace, letting his head fall on her shoulder, being at least three inches taller; he closed his eyes and sighed heavily, gently putting his arms around his kind mother. She held his head tenderly, smiling sadly. "I'm sorry about your father. I'm so sorry," she whispered.

His response was a quick nuzzle into her neck, and a staggered breath. "I love you mom," he murmured almost inaudibly.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," she choked, tears spilling out of her eyes.

Pigments rippled again, and I ended up two feet away from a cerulean duvet and in the midst of dirty clothes and various items strewn carelessly on the floor. Craig's more mature persona lay length-wise along the mattress, atop the covers, dressed only in a pair of long cotton pants, ebony hair mussed in sleep; he was facing away, and as my heart pounded in my thin chest, I carefully stepped around to see him. This Craig was definitely seventeen, magnificent even in sleep, and I was so tempted to touch his face, my eyes skimming with anxious excitement over his fantastically ripped chest. Sick thoughts of being held against it made me blush; I reached a trembling hand out to brush his cheek – the same cheek I'd seen his father hit.

"Hey, little fucker. Wake up."

Yelping, I clapped both hands over my mouth to stifle what couldn't be heard anyway. The overweight man that happened to sire the beauty before me stood in the doorway, the hallway light shining behind him giving him a bizarre, dangerous silhouette. I shivered.

Craig's eyes cracked open slowly, and he rubbed at them groggily with his knuckles, limply rolling halfway into his other side, shielding himself from the intruding light and mumbling, "What…? Dad?"

"What are you doing?"

"Um…I _was_ sleeping," he unsurely answered, disbelieving.

"Hmph," grunted the man. "If I wake up tomorrow and you're still here, you won't be _sleeping _here for the next week."

Craig stared blankly at the strange, cruel man, searching his satisfied expression. I fretted endlessly over how his dad could _say_ something like that. How could he kick his own _son_ out for _no reason at all?? _At least if _my_ dad kicked me out, he'd have a legit reason like me masturbating in the bathroom at work!_  
_

"You could, _ngh_, stay at _my_ house!" I offered out of the blue, even though he couldn't hear me. I twitched, whimpering.

The noirette closed his azure eyes, breathing out halfheartedly. "All right, dad," he muttered, turning away again. His father couldn't see, but I could – he was hurt, and angry, and sad, and so very _tired_. As the gross man left, I knelt, tears stinging my eyes as a combination of empathy and sympathy rushed my heart; he was squeezing his blue eyes tightly, and I felt invasive as I watched him struggle against his own tears. Craig… Craig doesn't _cry!_ Craig couldn't cry… It was unjust to me, and I wished I was stronger, so that maybe I could help him. I wished I was braver, too.

Craig was brave.

I remembered reading something somewhere once, about how bullies were a reflection of their home-life. I could see it, now. And I hated Mr. Tucker for it. This startled me a little – I don't think I've ever _hated_ anyone before. I never even hated _Craig_!

As I experienced this epiphany, the scene faded to white, and I was lifted up by an unseen force, an unnatural silence filling my ears. Swallowing hard, I dared to speak.

"Wh-what's going on?" I tried to demand, though of course, it came out pathetic. "Am I seeing, _ngh_, the past?"

_Yes and no,_ came the low reply. _Not everybody's dreams are surreal like yours. Some people remember…_

"I'm in Craig's, _hrk_, dreams??" I whimpered.

_He was in _yours_, wasn't he?_ I grunted unintentionally. _Anyway_, the voice sighed, _we're almost done. This might hurt. Again._

The sensation of being torn apart again came so quickly, I had no time to react. Gripping at my chest and shutting my eyes tightly, I curled up, my face contorting in pain. It was like someone was ripping my ribs off, and my limbs were on _fire_.

And then it stopped.

Eyes flying open, I found myself huddled on the floor of my workplace – I watched myself panicking over mishearing the raven that stood on the opposite side of the cashier counter. Suddenly, Craig seized the back of my neck and yanked my face up to his; I watched us kiss deeply, in awe at my eagerness. Squealing, I cowered in embarrassment as the me from a few hours ago climbed the counter, and a flash of tongue was visible. I was hot pink, getting turned on at the sight of us, the feel of his lips on mine again tingling invisibly. Then something happened in front of me that didn't actually happen – Craig's long, strong arm snaked around my waist, and he pulled me roughly into him, effortlessly bringing me down from the faux-granite without breaking the kiss. Slinging my arms around his neck, I pressed his head harder to me, as one of his hands went down my side and lifted my thigh, inviting my leg up. Elated, my leg jerked upward, assisted in speed by my immanent twitching. Craig growled lowly in his throat, moving his kisses down my neck and backing up before turning and pressing me flat against the merchandise wall of shelves, which in this fantasy appeared to be stable. I shrieked anyway, both the imaginary and the real me crying out in shock. It was awkward and scary to see Craig ravishing me when it wasn't actually me – this was nothing like the fantasies _I'd_ had had! In _my_ fantasies, I was the one getting the attention, and unless there were spies in my dreams – OH GOD, THEY'RE WATCHING ME – there was no audience, willing or otherwise. But I couldn't pretend it wasn't sexy – while I wasn't there in first person, he was doing exactly what I dreamed he would do, and it was _me_, after all… and yet, that was _so much pressure_! What if even the _fake_ me was a sucky kisser??

"Tweek?"

"SWEET JESUS!"

The scene froze, the imaginary Craig and me in mid-breath, and I leapt sideways, crouching and throwing my arms up over my head defensively.

"What are you doing here?" Craig asked defensively, eyes widened as he stared at me incredulously. He was dressed like the Craig frozen a few feet away, while I was still in my pyjamas. Narrowing his gaze, he grumbled, "Damien. I'm gonna _kill_ that guy." Upon noticing the fear in my eyes, however, he softened, the cold fury leaving his expression, turning to pink-cheeked shame. "Um, I can explain," he mumbled awkwardly, azure gaze darting anxiously to our clones, tangled together and motionless.

"ACK!" I blurted. "I thought these were, _ngh_, memories! You never, _hngh_, ate my _face_!" OH GOD, that came out so _mean!_ "I don't, _ngh,_ remember _that_ happening!" Pointing at the other set of us, I fixed him with my bravest, yet unsteady gaze.

"It's still a dream. I can manipulate recent memories," he dismissed, shrugging.

"I can't manipulate, _ngh_, my dreams!" I retorted, accusatory and overwhelmed – he _wanted_ to do that to me?!

"You—" He looked pained, stepping closer, slowly reaching out a big hand to me. "You… I know. I'm sorry."

Burning a vibrant shade of red, I ground my teeth together, yanking violently at my stupid, messy hair and releasing a strained, garbled noise, drown out and freaky. Squeezing my eyes shut, I didn't even _try_ to stop my trembling, even as it increased in severity. This was all too much to take in, too good to be true, and I was a combination of ecstatic and terrified. "_Hnnnnngh_—TOO MUCH PRESSURE!" I screeched. "Oh man oh man oh man oh _man_, oh GOD!"

"Tweek, you gotta calm d—"

"This isn't, _ngh_, happening! I can't be _happy_ – GAH!"

"Tweek, listen," Craig commanded loudly, urgency in his voice growing.

"You can't actually _want_ me! _Hrgck,_ I thought we were, _ngh_, in YOUR dreams, not, _hrk,_ _mine_!"

"Lookit me!"

"AUGH!" I snapped my aching head in his direction, only to see dark blue muffle my cry; Craig's arms pulled me into his chest, his long arms pressing my head and waist close, nuzzling his beautiful face in my chaotic blonde locks. Dumbstruck, my panic caught in my throat, I slowly stilled without even thinking about it. Maybe his hands were cold, but his body was so _warm_ – again I breathed him in, worrying distantly about creeping him out, when his chest expanded with a similar breath. I shivered on principle, and tentatively put my own arms around him, frustration, disbelief, and self-consciousness stinging my eyes in the form of treacherous tears. Thankfully, I didn't start bawling or anything, but the fact that I was crying at all added to my embarrassment, and ironically, I cried just a little bit more.

"It's okay," his hauntingly wonderful voice soothed, "It's all right." Gently stroking through my hair, somehow calming me to some degree, he kissed the top of my head, lingering for a moment and making me whine. "You can be happy," he murmured, "You can. You deserve to be. So…" Pulling me back just enough to nail me with his piercing sapphire gaze, the saddest expression on his stunning features, he angled my chin upward with one hand, using the other to bring me a little closer again. "So let me make you happy, Tweekers."

My heart ceased its beating as he pressed his cool lips to mine tenderly, making me shiver again and clutch at the back of his thin coat. It didn't last too long, Craig expertly breaking the kiss and hugging me tightly again. Which was perfect. I think I needed him to hold me as proof, rather than kiss me (which I didn't necessarily _mind_), and somehow, he knew that.

I just hoped he didn't know exactly how much I wanted this.

-

"ACK! Good morning, C-Craig," I greeted timidly as he glided up to me, powdery snow landing at my feet as his kicked it up. "How are y—GAH!" Jumping, I interrupted myself with a shriek when the raven stood right up next to me, his shoulder bumping mine. It hurt a little, since it was still sore from a variety of things, but I did my best not to whimper or squeal like a pitiable animal.

"'M fine," he mumbled, not meeting my nerve-wrecked stare but smirking nevertheless. "You?"

Quivering helplessly, my mouth stumbling over silent words, I flushed pink and sipped nervously from my thermos. "I'm, um, _ngh_," I fumbled stupidly, unsure of what to say. "I'm... AUGH, I'm really happy, actually!" I blurted at last, shivering intensely and hoping I wasn't putting him off. "Because – because you, _ngh_, said I could be..." I trailed off shyly.

He glanced sideways at me, and smiled; I whined in humiliation at my own choice of words, but couldn't help gaping at his heart-stopping smile. I caught a glimpse of Clyde approaching, though he was still about two blocks away, and then my vision was impaired as Craig leaned down to my hunched height, capturing my awful green gaze with his cobalt orbs. I opened my mouth to mechanically shriek, but it was stolen before it could form the sound.

The kiss was short, sweet – I had just enough time to simultaneously melt and fall into him before it was broken. Panting mostly with the shock of it, I stared up at him dim-wittedly, like I couldn't fathom what just happened. Which I couldn't. But still.

Sneaking an arm around my waist, he handed me his sunshine yellow gloves once again and casually instructed me to wear them. "I'm totally serious," he reminded me, smirking. "You... are going to be my king," he slowly murmured, subtly edged my smaller body closer, the flaps of his chullo landing in my hair and making me twitch.

"PRESSURE!" I involuntarily cried out, a wave of sheer happiness washing over me despite my outburst. Heat raged in my face, and I unconsciously angled toward him more, chugging scorching hot coffee to help calm me.

"Well, well," Clyde mused, stepping up to the street sign that acted as our bus stop. "Looky here." He grinned, hazel eyes dancing. "I wonder what everyone else will say?"

"SWEET JESUS! They'll, _ngh_, eat me alive!" I panicked, tensing, my eyelid spazzing.

"Not on my watch," Craig muttered determinedly.

"I like how you talk more now, dude." The brunette punched him lightly in the arm. "I kinda missed hearin' ya, if you'll believe it."

Craig stared blankly at his best friend, shortly flipping him off. "Hm," he hummed, contradicting Clyde's excitement. I shivered awkwardly, wondering why Clyde seemed so comfortable. Shouldn't he be throwing a fit?? His best friend had an arm around another _guy_ – don't people usually get upset, at least? "That reminds me," Craig mumbled to himself, quickly turning his attention to me. "Do you wanna come out?"

"OH JESUS! What??"

"At school. You wanna tell people? Do you want them to just figure it out? Or do you not want PDA?"

Oh Christ, how can he be so _chill_ about this?? "I don't care if you, _ngh_, wanna kiss me!" I strained clumsily.

He smiled slightly, making my insides leap joyously. "Cool."

I let myself smile in return.

* * *

**A/N **once again: Oh my son of a fucknut. What the sin. This chapter sucked MAJOR DONKEY BALLS, holy _Christ_! Lamesauce, lamesauce, LAMESAUCE, AUGH!

I am angry with myself. Dammit.

There was so much going on in here, and I totally threw Tweek out of character! Luckily, however, Craig has to change a little anyway, so him shifting a bit isn't so bad, but WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING WITH TWEEK?! Fffffffffffffffffffffffuuuuu-- *kills self* X_X

Fanfictionlover4allfanfiction: I am indeed flattered that my story was more important than essays. O_O' X3 Also, yes, I DID mean "suck" and not "duck." I swear, I have some serious typing issues sometimes. TT_TT It's a time thing, with me and editing. I'm actually incredibly competent, I promise, I just type fast (cuz my writing throws me off if I don't get it all typed up fast enough), and still have no time to read through and edit it. XD =_= I go back later on and edit chapters. It actually helps a lot, though, when you tell me big typos like that, cuz then I know where to look. =D

zeromotion: Print away! =D (The "German girl's sentence" needed no forgiving and made perfect sense.) Also: YAAAAAAAAAY FANART FROM YOU MAKES ME JIZZ!! X3

RolfeDOLL: *bows* I'm glad you liked it. =3

Factoring Hectopascal: Hey, yeah, you're watching me on dA! =D I will seriously give you my address if you make bracelets. I would. Really-really. X3

Akumi-san: Yeah, I've read fics where Tweek was, like, five feet tall, and I was like, WTF, that's not actually very realistic. ._.' I mean, he's small-ish for a guy, no matter how I think of him, but he's about my height standing up straight (in MY miind, anyway). I'm trying to figure out where on earth I stuck Pip in this world, cuz I did wanna sneak some Dip in, but I haven't seen the movie (I know, BLASPHEMY, right? TT_TT), so I didn't know about Christophe or Christory until I was ranted at by a friend and read a few fics with them. I really like the pairing now, though, and will incorporate them in other things in the future. =3

RisaShootingStar: Yeah, that little four-panel inspired that moment. =D I faved it a while ago on my dA. =3

Ritsuka Yuki: Thanks for reviewing, then. ;) Plus also, I'm glad you liked Kenny and the pace, because I'm still fretting over both. XD ._.

Woffy: I only know where "Tweek" and "tweekers" come from because we did a unit in my health class last year on crystal meth, probably because my city is supposedly the meth capital of the world. O_o' It surprises me that it isn't common knowledge, cuz half the point of Matt n Trey naming him Tweek was cuz he's a play off of druggies. TT_TT Oh god, that sounded really mean. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that! D=

Menet: Dude, you keep pointing out the things that bother even ME. XD I tried to help clarify Craig's reasoning, so I hope that makes it better. =o ;_; Craig getting off to Tweek getting of to _him_ is a result of me reading way too much yaoi. XD Also: YAY, I'D MAKE YOU CUM! =D I'd _totally_ rape Kenny. Or just let him in my pants whenever he wants. Y'know, whatever works. =D

AdiKo-Bentsy: I ADORE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW. CHRIST, WOMAN. X3X3X3X3X3

PainfullNight: Your English is fine, and that chapter was indeed quite long. XD


	14. Keep 'Em Guessing

**A/N**: MENET, WTF, GET OUTTA MY HEAD! O_o' You keep pointing out all the things I need to address, when I try to be a ninja and sneak in situations that follow mini-plotlines of importance. It's like you know exactly what the next chapter's premise is, and I don't know _how_ you do it. D= A magical, awesome thing. I hope you continue to freak/help me out. =]

Okay, so this is late cuz it was finals week and I had SO MUCH to do. TT_TT Hopefully no one is disappointed or anything, cuz it'll undoubtedly be evident. ._.' Etc.

Um, there's some actual conflict in this chapter (not too much, though, really), partly thanks to an awesome reviewer or two (AUGH, GET OUTTA MY HEEEAAD!) and partly to shake things up. Truthfully, the real conflict is introduced at the very end, and you'll just hafta wait for fifteen to see it play out. =3 *evil grin*

Also: Wanna know a secret? The bus stop scene at the end of What Makes you Happy wasn't really in my notebook—THAT'S RIGHT. It was all last-second. Which means I put in the "coming out" question a bit prematurely, and didn't think ahead. Fuck, brah. Coming out issues – you all saw it coming (no pun intended), or you probably should have ._.' Yes, not everyone is as lucky as me in the ways of such things; we get to see _Craig's_ worries on the subject, and a small amount of you may or may not have seen a [still-] preview of what may or may not be a significant event. =3 I'm not sure yet, though, but all those who've 'splored my dA probably know what I'm talking about. =D I swear I'm not discriminating! D= TT_TT

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Craig's P.O.V._

Keep 'Em Guessing

The second we stepped onto the bus, I was hit violently in the gut with an epiphany: Coming out when I'd not only just realized how I worked, but with a guy I tormented for years on end, was probably more than a bad idea. For one thing, the only people who didn't seem to think I was setting Tweek up for the ultimate prank were Kenny, Clyde, and Damien; everyone else kept looking at me expectantly, waiting for something awful to happen to the jittery blonde coffee fiend, by my own devious hand. Which wasn't going to happen. Yet still they stared, some giggling, some murmuring, some glaring in half-hearted disapproval. None of them would move to help him even if I _did_ have something planned, and I resented them all for that fact. They were all just mindless hypocrites, and I wasn't going to be the person they anticipated anymore.

Gently urging him back to my usual seat, even though he didn't appear to need instruction, I swiveled my gaze to the unsure faces of my peers and semi-friends, wondering with mild concern if they could tell anything was different, or even if there was yet a difference to notice. When he slid toward the window. I exchanged looks with Kenny; he winked mischievously, leaning into Butters and mimicking my hand gesture as he stuck out his tongue. Tweek trembled his bag off his shoulder, unscrewing his thermos and sipping unsteadily; I couldn't take my eyes off his huge emerald orbs, as they unwittingly darted around in paranoid uncertainty.

Did he honestly not question my sincerity? Well, I guess it's hard to deny when he saw my imagination… acting up. Christ.

He caught me staring and yelped, starting in pace and meeting my eyes anxiously. "What, _ngh_?? What's wrong—GAH!" He shivered violently as I affectionately tousled his chaotic hair, shutting one vibrant orb and flushing brilliantly.

"Nothin'," I dismissed with a chuckle, lingering in his surprisingly soft golden locks. "Don't worry 'bout it, Tweekers," I murmured carefully, edging closer and relaxing more. My nerves dissolved when he uncertainly scooted that much nearer himself, glancing up at me in search of displeasure; he winced when I gave him a small smile in response. I wanted so badly to put my arm across his bony shoulders, but suddenly recalled my previous concerns – was "coming out" going to be the best of ideas? What if some senior decided he didn't care for the decision, and cornered Tweek when I wasn't around?

Visibly stiffening, my lip curled slightly at the images of my fragile blonde broken on the floor as some faceless jock filled the role of homophobic, vehement dickhole. His friends towered around them, guffawing and occasionally throwing in their two cents in the form of a kick to his ribs or kidneys. Maybe it was passing time, or maybe I was sick that day, but whatever the case was, I wasn't there to help him. No one else would, I knew, and perhaps it was this revelation that made me the angriest.

"_Ngh_! C-Craig??" Tweek scrabbled away from me in horror, eyes wide, his thermos pressed into his chest. "Are you, _hrk_, okay?? Did I make, _ngh_, make you mad?? OH JESUS, I didn't _mean_ to!" he wailed.

Fuck. His paranoia really _was_ contagious.

Blinking, I snapped out of my vivid, rage-inducing vision, realizing when I saw the look on his beautiful panicked face that I probably looked absolutely livid. Erasing the expression I unconsciously wore, I gently took the back of his neck, pretending his startled, scared flinch didn't send a pang of guilt through my gut. "No one is going to hurt you," I promised him lowly, trying to sound strong. "Okay?"

Eyelid twitching sporadically, he shivered, whether at my cold touch or trepidation I don't know, and he gazed timidly up at me. "What?? Oh GOD! Is someone, _ngh_, waiting at school to shoot me in the, _ngh_, head?!" Frantically unscrewing his thermos lid, Tweek swallowed copious amounts of coffee, distracted as I leaned closer to him. "Sweet _Jesus_, _ngh_, what if they—AUGH!"

Touching my forehead to his, I stared patiently into his wavering emerald eyes, not having to wait long for him to bite hard into his abused bottom lip. "Nobody is going to shoot you." Moving to place a careful kiss on his forehead, encouraged by his squeak, I slowly shared a small amount of my thought process. "I'm thinking… maybe instead of publicly announcing this, most likely making people think I'm raping you in secret—" Tweek emitted a shriek. "—or something… maybe we should let people figure it out on their own." I allowed myself to smile coyly, his vibrant blush making my heart pound at a ludicrous tempo, and I had to clench my fists to curb my mild frustration with a damning sensation in my pants.

"Wh-what do you, _ngh_, mean??" he stuttered nervously, tearing his green gaze away and fumbling with his sweater's hem. That's when I properly noticed his hands, and was immediately distracted. "ACK! C-Craig??" he blurted when I swiftly seized his wrists, our heads separating and his trembles turning to quakes. "Oh, my, _ngh_, bandages," he said in a small voice, evidently sheepish. "I, I _tried_ putting them, _hrk_, on myself, but it's really—GAH!—hard by myself, and, _ngh_, my dad, _ngh_, wasn't home and my mom, _ngh_, was busy, and I didn't know what else to, _urk_, to do!" he rambled apologetically, like it was _my_ damaged hands that needed the attention. Inspecting the loose wrappings with a skeptical frown, I let him continue mindlessly as I carefully began undoing his sloppy attempt to wrap himself, unwinding the gauze quickly and scrutinizing the partly-healed slices. "So I put some, _hngh_, hydrogen peroxide on so I wouldn't get, _hrgck_, flesh-eating parasites or AIDS—OH GOD—and then I, _ngh_, did my best…" He trailed off, silently watching me retie the gauze so it wasn't floppy or bulky anymore; when I'd just about finished, he released a worrisome strangled noise, eyelid twitching as he quickly withdrew and held both newly wrapped hands against his scrawny chest.

"Thank you, _ngh_, C-Craig," he shyly murmured, surprisingly calm and quiet.

"No problem, Tweek," I responded lightly, ruffling his ridiculously messy hair and wondering if it was normal to enjoy having your own name stuttered. "Tell me if it's too tight." I thought briefly and added, "If you go numb, it's too tight."

"GAH!"

It seemed he'd forgotten what we had been talking about, so I let it pass, instead observing as he shakily chugged more coffee like it was his lifeblood.

Who needs to know, anyway? What I wanted with this helpless caffeine addict, and what he apparently wanted from me, was no one's business but ours. If someone actually _asked_, maybe I'd tell. But as with everything, it would definitely _depend_, this time on who asked. In the end, though, the only people whose opinions even vaguely mattered seemed to already know, so who cares? As I stared at his cute fidgeting, his awkward demeanor, his beautiful, wild green eyes – I realized I should've done this a long time ago.

-

Throughout first period all I could think about was if anyone had noticed anything yet. Did Cartman, who sat four or five seats ahead of us? Did Stan or Kyle, who'd been whispering conspiratorially the whole ride? Did any seniors even see us when we went to our lockers and I walked him to English? My reputation didn't matter to me – I could handle any shifts that would undoubtedly occur – it was, once again, Tweek I was worried about. Halfway through class, it struck me that if someone successfully targeted him, it would have to be after first period, when I wasn't around. I'd been following him lately, but couldn't during passing time from first period to second, since he was at the other end of the school.

No one messed with me; they'd seen before what I was capable of, and not just when it came to Tweek. I've been in a few fights before, even if I can't remember why or when, and while I walked away with bruises and one or two scars, my opponent always ended up with more. Even still, that freakish panic gripped my windpipe as the bell rung, and I shot out of algebra like a bat out of Hell, zooming past confused teenagers at a breakneck pace I didn't even know I could go. Mr. Mackey shouted something at me, but I ignored him and careened around the last corner between me and Tweek's English class. Students were just starting to pour out of the doorway, and I spotted the mass of untidy gold; I nearly barreled into him, my momentum carrying me farther than where I'd consciously stopped my legs, and he let out a high-pitched shriek, throwing both thin arms over his head and ducking automatically. He'd successfully startled about a dozen other students, who at me with a mix of responses I didn't care enough to decipher.

"Dude," I breathed, winded as I bent over his trembling frame and tousled his hair, smirking at his squeak. "It's me."

Peeking up from under his elbow, the jittery coffee fiend relaxed the tiniest bit, hesitantly taking my offered hand and letting me help him to his feet. "Hi—AUGH—C-Craig," he whimpered, reddening. "Why did you, _ngh_, do that?" he wondered carefully, adjusting his bag's strap and fingering his hair.

My mouth nearly obliged his curiosity, my heart warming with small pride at his initiative, but I shut my trap quickly when I realized he'd have a panic attack if I brought up my worries for his safety. Yet that trusting, expectant look in his eyes when he bravely met my blank stare made me hot, my face on fire; I had to tell him _something_, didn't I?

"Uh," I said lamely. _Don't tell him, don't tell him,_ I pleaded with my mind, hoping my tongue would listen; my black-and-white, honesty versus lying had already led me to trouble before. "I wanted to see you."

Well. That wasn't the gayest thing I've said today at all. At least it was true, and at least the gayness of it was half the point.

"_Hrgck_," he choked, turning hot pink and shivering potently. "Really?" he asked in a painstakingly shy voice. "Um, _ngh_, okay, C-Craig."

We walked down to the cafeteria in somewhat awkward silence, with me eyeing bulky seniors suspiciously, regardless of what I did or didn't already know about them. His shoulder bumped into my arm, and as he emitted a startled cry, I noticed I'd been moving closer and closer to his smaller frame; even my subconscious was concerned about him. At the risk of stares, I slung an arm around his bony shoulders and pulled him closer. The action was perfect in two ways; one, it could be taken as either friendly or very friendly, and two, it was an obvious symbol of connection either way – whether or not I was "just friends" with him, the cold glare I gave people in addition to the movement was an obvious gesture of _don't even think about it_. Of course, my tinier blonde counterpart squirmed unsurely, eyes shifting between faces in the watchful crowds. Before I knew it, we were seated in the lunch room; his numbing trembles had become so amazing on my limb, so goddamned _elating_, that I'd even stopped scowling at people in the halls and didn't register Kenny's face in mine until he was already shouting my name.

"CRAIG!" he yelled, nose an inch from mine.

"AUGH!" Tweek shrieked in my stead as I fell back in uncharacteristic alarm, landing somehow soundlessly on the linoleum, my neck and shoulders at an unpleasant angle. "C-Craig!" the quivering kid cried, turning in his seat and biting his lip, "Are you okay?? GAH!"

"Asshole," I muttered at the hooded boy crouching on the table, irate, "The fuck was _that_ for?" Flicking him off, I attempted to slip my lower legs out from under the table to roll onto my side and get up. In a surprising show of agility, Tweek scrambled to my side, his shaky bandaged hands held out for me to take as he bent down. Embarrassed at the role reversal (and secretly a little turned on), I mumbled something unintelligible about irony, flipping Kenny off again as he chuckled.

"I must be, _ngh_, contagious," Tweek tried to joke, taking a hit at himself for no apparent reason. "You're, _ngh_, around me so, _hrk_, much, lately…"

"Nah," I retorted rapidly, unwilling to let him diss himself over something so incredibly trivial. "Kenny's just a dick," I dismissed, seating myself again and shoving his knee so that he fell sideways on the tabletop, laughing. "I will _end_ you someday," I threatened him lowly.

"Sure, sure," he chuckled, climbing down and nudging Clyde for no obvious reason, my best friend furrowing his brow skeptically at the odd blonde. "So what're you two planning on doing?" he went on shamelessly, resting his chin on the heels of both palms and wearing an annoyingly endearing shit-eating grin.

"SWEET JESUS!" Tweek announced, twitching violently; I moved protectively up against him so that our thighs were touching, his shakes seeming to quell the slightest bit, to my slight dismay, even though he blushed. "What do you, _ngh_, you mean??" he reiterated, gawking at the orange-clad hornball and clutching at his thermos, edgy and fearful.

"That whole… _thingy_ you guys got now," Clyde clarified dumbly, flicking his fingers in an aimless gesture. Ah, Clyde: King of Words.

"Shut up, fucktards!" I hissed as Tweek whined and reached for his hair; I kidnapped both his wrists with one hand, almost automatically. "We're gonna let people work it out themselves," I allowed, using my typical bored voice and glancing at the small blonde I had a hold on, smirking at his flushed cheeks. He was gaping at his frail wrists in my bigger hand and gnawing his bottom lip anxiously. Suddenly I wanted to kiss his forehead again, if not those damaged lips, but turned back to the two guys in-the-know, restraining myself to prove a point (if not only for my benefit). "Y'know – challenge people's assumptions and shit." No particular emotion showed on my face, and I didn't plan on letting one sneak into place, so I shrugged, gently angling Tweek toward me with my grasp of him; he complied obediently, relaxing just barely enough to rest against my shoulder.

"Aw," Kenny cooed, grin growing and then softening to a genuine smile. "But it's so – so _cute_!" he protested, wiggling his fists at shoulder height in a girly manner. "We weren't gonna _tell_ anybody, though, dumbass," he defensively added, pouting.

"I told you I wouldn't do that, man," Clyde threw in, sounding hurt.

Dammit. Fucking weirdo compassionate jerk-off friends.

Wait.

Was Kenny really my friend? Well, what _else_ would he be? Holy Christ. I guess he was. He was _Tweek's_ friend, too... and just the thought of the caffeine nut making friends made my chest ache with more bizarre pride. He was distracted, but I smiled a little at him anyway.

"I totally understand, dude," Kenny assured me, winking at Tweek, "Keep 'em guessing. But does that mean…" His eyes widened in mock-horror, the blonde at my side crying out apprehensively. "No PDA??" he gasped in a stage-whisper. "Damn! I was looking forward to some hot broody-dick-on-coffee-addict action, too!" he teased, grinning again.

"Aw, dude, _no_," Clyde groaned, screwing up his face in distaste.

Flipping Kenny off, I kicked him under the table. "Fuck you, Kenny. I am _not_ broody."

"No, you're right. You're just a dick."

Clyde laughed along with the hooded boy while I scowled, irate. Tweek grunted a little and twitched, examining me sideways, anxiety and anticipation in his emerald orbs. "But seriously, you guys," I deadpanned after letting them have a moment to themselves. "Just let it happen on its own, all right. If either of you idiots… _gossip_, Christ – I won't hesitate to disembowel." My gaze was directed significantly to Kenny, the more talkative of the two.

Throwing their hands up in simultaneous mock-surrender, they smirked, still smug. Tweek shrieked and I pressed his head briefly onto my shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "No problem," they said in unison, and I narrowed my gaze.

This had better end well.

-

Lunch rolled around, and I followed the adorable mass of nerves that was my technically-secret boyfriend (Jesus, "_boyfriend_") out of fourth, a hooded mischief-maker in tow. Kenny chatted mindlessly with Tweek, the taller blonde keeping the jittery boy between us, as if reading my mind's anxieties for his safety. On the way to the cafeteria, we exchanged looks, his expression accordingly solemn for a split second – he _did_ think the same thing. I was grateful, but also pissed; if we ever even had to worry about it, what did that say about everybody _else_? It's not like I was unfamiliar with homophobia – while I had yet to be subjected to it, I'd seen it happen. Last year I'd caught the last minute of a fight – if you could even call it that.

Three seniors ganged up on a smallish kid in their year. The guy was gayer than Big Gay Al, but somehow even nicer. Rumor was that all he did was smile at these guys, and they jumped him, claiming he was hitting on them. The cops showed up just before the kid could get killed, but they did quite a number on him first. Whispers of broken limbs and ruptured organs floated through the halls for weeks, and some group or other came and talked to the whole school about tolerance and shit. Admittedly, I didn't pay much attention; I was too busy glaring coldly at Tweek's shivering, terrified figure on the bottom left bleacher to take in the words of caution and disappointment. Now that I think about it, he looked particularly scared. Maybe… maybe he was worried the same would happen to him? Christ, he was probably convinced it would be _me_ doing it, too. Would I have, though? Even then? I mean, it was only a year ago, I'd calmed down a bit…

Point is, anyone who was planning on coming out (or whatever) ended up reevaluating their options, and anyone who was already "out" toned down any flames they might have had. For almost two months, I could feel the fear in the air, though it wasn't even close to mattering to me at the time. When I felt like bashing, it was reserved for Tweek, and 'gay' never came up.

As I stood in the lunch line with my jittery blonde, I kept an eye out for the guys I remembered were friends with the perpetrators from last year – they'd be seniors this year, and hadn't shown much remorse for their older friends' actions. Not that they needed to feel _guilty_, exactly, but why didn't they stop smiling during that tolerance presentation – smiling like they thought it was the funniest thing they'd seen all year? What I'm getting at here is that they were highest on my list of concerns when it came to who might go after the adorable nut in front of me.

Squeaking when I stood directly behind him, Tweek glanced feverishly over his shoulder at me; I nodded toward the counter, where students pushed Styrofoam plates stacked with poorly cooked macaroni and wheat buns at us. Tweek jerked forward, scooping up a plate and almost spilling it onto his tray. Chuckling, I took one myself and urged him onward, warmth swelling in my chest.

_God_, I was falling hard for this spastic coffee fanatic.

Eating at our usual table, there was an odd, somehow awkward silence between everyone, and after a moment of this, I dropped my stupid plastic spork and glared at Kenny and Clyde alternately, as they were seated on either side of Tweek and me.

"You didn't," I stated flatly, frustration seeping into my tone. I gave them both the finger preemptively. "I wasn't kidding when I said I'd kill you," I growled.

"Did what?" Kenny questioned, undeterred.

"Why are you killing Clyde and Kenny?" Token wondered in the just-walked-in-on-someone-else's-conversation tone, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow.

"What'd you do _this_ time?" Kyle sighed wearily, frowning slightly at the orange-clad advice guy.

Hold up.

I blinked. "Wait. You guys… _didn't_?" I asked incredulously.

"JESUS CHRIST! What didn't, _ngh_, they do?" Tweek blurted at me, just as lost as Stan and Kyle. Once I bumped my knee into his lightly – earning a shriek – and kept it there, he flushed, emerald orbs widening in sudden understanding. "_Hrgck_."

"We didn't… throw your latest guinea pig into the Colorado," Kenny offered, clearly starting a little, juvenile game for his own amusement.

"We didn't… upload porn onto Kyle's computer," Clyde threw in, surprising me by catching on as fast as he did.

"You better _not_ have," Kyle murmured menacingly, narrowing his jade gaze.

"We didn't…" Kenny began again, only to be cut off by Butters thwacking him on the shoulder disapprovingly, despite the small smile on his face.

"You guys can suck mine," I stated flatly, flipping the off.

"Aren't you guys going out?" Stan wondered out of the blue.

The table fell silent, all heads turning curiously to Tweek and me, and I was grateful Cartman had gone for seconds and wasn't here to bitch loudly. Unfortunately, Tweek took the question as a threat or something, squealing fearfully and gnawing his lower lip, hunching his shoulders further and gulping down the last of his second thermos. This opportunity to be a dick without actually being a dick arose, and I slung an arm around the quivering boy's shoulders once again, showing everyone my favorite finger and giving away nothing else in my face. His twitch made me smirk, however, only affecting my face so much.

"_Pressuuuuure_," Tweek strained under his breath, trying to be quiet.

"Fuck you," I allowed lowly, shrugging my unoccupied shoulder. "Where'd _that_ come from?"

"You _are_," Token breathed, eyebrows in the middle of his high forehead.

"You sound sure," I stated, removing my arm and scowling, giving him an extra dose of my trademark gesture.

"Well, you _did_ say 'fuck you' before anything else," Clyde reported helpfully. I shot him a warning glare.

"Ha, I _knew_ it," Stan triumphed. "What's the big deal, dude?"

"You guys are assholes," I informed them bluntly.

"I mean, who cares?" the raven-haired semi-jock before me mused. "Big deal," he added through a bite of roast beef.

"It kinda is a big deal, Stan," Kyle said tightly. "If they _are_ dating, they could get hurt." He was staring at Stan with a determined defiance, lowering his apple and frowning. "This is South Park, Stan. Not _everybody_ is cool with homosexuality. Remember last year?" he articulated through clenched teeth.

Tweek tensed next to me, gripping his lime green canister tighter, the tips of his fingers turning white along with his knuckles. Last year's incident cropping up twice in one day made me stiffen myself, and I sneaked my arm around his neck and urged his head onto my shoulder, holding him there insistently, hoping to ease the obvious strain on his overactive nerves. He whimpered, letting out a ragged breath.

Let people notice. Whatever. Even despite the conversation's turn, I didn't want Tweek to panic, and it's not as though I never noticed the difference I made when he had me near him.

"Those guys are gone," Stan pointed out, brow knitting.

"What infallible logic," Kyle grumbled dryly. "Coming out can be dangerous. I can see why they haven't said anything yet."

"Uh, I was thinking they haven't said anything… more because of their specific situation," Stan argued, setting his hoagie down and turning more toward his Super Best Friend. "That whole only-been-even-close-to-friends-for-about-three-days thing?"

Kyle flushed slightly, partially deflated.

"Wow, it really has been only, like, four days now, hasn't it?" Kenny commented bemusedly. I flipped him off.

"Well, that's one factor, I'm sure, but what about their _parents_?" the redhead went on haughtily, crossing his arms.

My breath hitched in my throat, and my heart halted mid-beat. Holy fuck. My dad. What would happen if he found out?

Stan and Kyle continued to bicker about the issue of coming out, and I was pretty sure they were no longer talking about Tweek and me anymore; I tuned out, my thoughts straying to the nightmarish scenarios my head conjured, as if using Tweek's excess paranoia. I imagined walking into my living room with Tweek in tow, the excuse of screwing around on the Xbox like I do with Clyde raring to go, but my father shows up with a rage hotter than the seventh level of Hell. I'd never seen him get angry over anything gay _specifically_, but it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he found it disgusting, or wrong, or whatever it is people think. Anyway, in my mind he's throwing shit – anything he can get his pudgy hands on – and for some reason the front door won't open, so I hafta lead Tweek through the hail of household objects to the back door, but something hits him and he goes down. When I stop to help him up, my dad barrels into me, knocks me over, and goes for my helpless boyfriend. I lunge at him, but suddenly there's an invisible wall between us, and I can't do shit, and this is starting to be more and more like a bad dream as I'm uselessly pounding on impenetrable glass to try getting to the blonde raised in the air by my stupid, fat, cruel father. Tweek screams as the man's fist flies at him, and—

"CRAIG!"

Blinking, I sucked in a breath quickly, my stomach churning.

"C-Craig! What's wrong, AUGH!" the perfectly safe caffeine addict on my shoulder wondered anxiously, pushing himself up to look at me, huge green eyes wide with panic. "You were, _ngh_, growling!"

"Dude, you look ill," Token informed me, "You okay?"

"Don't forget _pissed_," Kenny threw in, a deep scowl on his typically cheerful visage. "Is screaming in your face the only way to get your attention anymore?" he drawled purposely, cynical.

Squeezing Tweek closer, I ground my teeth with silent resentment for a man I never wanted to deal with again. The tiny blonde whined, fidgeting awkwardly and blushing adorably, instantly curbing my anger. Shutting my eyes and continuing to offer no response, I rested my head on top of his chaotic crown, sighing heavily.

_You don't have to deal with him yet, quit freaking out_, I scolded myself, inhaling Tweek's hazelnut coffee aroma and flipping off the two grinning blondes on the other side of him. I don't – _we_ don't owe anybody explanations. We don't owe them anything. And if someone figures us out and decides that they've got a problem, they'll have to go through me. There's no 'first' needed – they won't be getting _past_ me.

I'd make sure of it.

-

The director of Tweek's choir greeted me distractedly when I trailed in after the small blonde, and I flipped him off out of habit; he adjusted his glasses, waving me off with a sigh. By now I was given a chair on the back corner to sit and listen, since I'd taken someone's seat before. Muttering to himself, the director sat at the piano and began warm-ups, people following him automatically. Tweek and Kenny stopped their furtive whispering and sang scales. I was sort-of proud of myself for honing in on singers' conversations to learn some of the lingo; now I knew a bit more about music than I ever thought I would. I smirked as I closed my eyes, Tweek's voice devastatingly fantastic even without a tune.

"So you guys need to work on measure 68," Sam announced after another warm-up or two. "Dynamics, gentlemen; where's the swell? I wanna hear the swell." He flipped through some pages on his piano piece.

"Um, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"What song?" Kyle asked with an amused smile.

"Oh, the Latin one, Verbum."

I chuckled. This guy was worse than my mom. The low, haunting basses started it off, and I sat further back, breathing deep as Tweek and Kenny amazing voices came in with the tenor line, Kyle and the baritones completed the chord, throwing in extra… what were they called again? Pitches. Yeah, those. Sam soon left the piano in favor of conducting, and the music seemed somehow more… powerful without the accompaniment. The sounds washed over me, and I honed in on Tweek's smooth voice, letting myself melt a little at its beauty. God, everything about him was _beautiful_, and he would never know it. This strangely depressing thought combined with the tantalizingly flawless sound he made came close to breaking my heart – and my heart was only just starting to warm up.

As the song came to a close, I withheld the urge to clap, since it would probably be seen as sarcastic when it was well-deserved. Reputations. Jesus. Tweek glanced back at me cautiously, eyelid twitching and shoulders jerking up involuntarily. I gave him a small smile to let him know I was enjoying myself, and he yelped, accidentally bumping his knees with Kenny, who looked first at him, followed his line of sight, and then looked back at me. He slapped on another unnaturally large grin, winking and ruffling Tweek's messy locks, sparking the tiniest hint of jealousy in me; this was undoubtedly his intention, as his grin grew at both the smaller blonde's whimper and my narrowed gaze. Papers shuffled, and they both turned back around, pulling out more sheet music and listening to their director go on about the next song.

After successfully being serenaded for what was only about forty minutes, the bell rung, Tweek screeching in shock, having been absorbed in the piece they almost finished. I practically leapt out of the chair I was in, closing in on him as he was forced to exit his row by slightly more impatient teenagers. When I approached just outside the door, he had his thin fingers tangled in his hair, and he was mumbling about pressure and stampedes; Kenny made a beeline for us, having somehow been separated in the rush, and smirked when I immediately pulled the shaky nut's bandaged hands from his head.

"GAH! C-Craig!" He bounced nervously on his heels. "_Ngh_, hi."

FUCK, his shy was adorable. Damn, and that _blush_.

"You guys kick so much ass," I told them flatly. "For real. I'd never heard shit like that until a few days ago, and you fucking blew my mind."

"SWEET JESUS, did it hurt?! I didn't _mean_ to!"

Affectionately patting the paranoid kid on the shoulder as I tousled his hair, Kenny shook his head, chuckling. "Craig Tucker paying a compliment? What _has_ this world come to?" he sarcastically wondered.

Flipping him the bird, I rolled my eyes, instigating the walk to our lockers and shortly shoving my hands into my pockets. "Right, cuz it's the only weird thing I've done all week, McCormick."

Shrugging, he moved between us and flung an arm around both our necks, shamelessly leading us down the hall; normally I'd be irritated with the familiarity, but somehow Kenny just didn't strike the nerve. Probably because of that friend thing. Huh.

"You got work today, Tweekers?" I asked the anxious blonde on Kenny's other arm.

"GAH! Yes!" he blurted, digging in his bag and pulling out his last thermos. "Why do you, _ngh_, ask?" he inquired suspiciously, meeting my gaze with what could've been the beginnings of ease.

"I wanna come," I stated truthfully, blinking. Kenny's arm tightened around me momentarily, and I raised an eyebrow at him; he nodded encouragingly as Tweek nervously bit his lip. The orange-clad goofball grinned at me, shifting awkwardly between us; I was just a little taller than him, and our coffee addict was shorter, so I had the feeling our odd little group was made that much more comical by the undeniably bizarre angle he was at. Smirking at the private musing, I leaned slightly forward to get a better view of Tweek. "If that's okay with _you_," I added, knowing that even if it wasn't, he wouldn't deny me. I almost felt guilty as the epiphany hit, but then he smiled – tentative though it was, it effectively increased my heart rate.

"No, _ngh_, it's okay, C-Craig!" he hastily assured me, inadvertently twitching. "I don't, _ngh_, don't mind—GAH!"

A flare of possessiveness rose in me as Kenny threw his lanky arms around Tweek, giggling girlishly and squeezing him tightly even as the boy screamed and jerked about wildly, clearly panicked and likely thinking he was about to be abducted and thrown into a van somewhere. Without thinking about it, I clenched my fists and snarled; Kenny briefly lifted the terrified blonde off his feet, and quickly set him down again, holding him out at arm's length and grinning hugely.

"Sorry, you're just so _cute_ sometimes, and I've been wanting to hug you for a few days now," Kenny apologized with a laugh, mussing his already mussed hair and receiving a shriek in return, the boy's trembling increasing with embarrassment and disbelief. I was seconds away from nailing Mr. Advice to the wall with my fist for scaring him like that, when Tweek's cheeks lit up.

All resolve I'd had vanished in an instant as the delicious red decorated his precious face. Letting out a staggered breath, I relaxed; I was sorely tempted to crush his quivering frame against me myself. Instead, I yanked Kenny away, shoving my middle finger in his face and carefully nudging Tweek along, aiming away from the small, curious crowd forming at the end of the hall. Kenny's arrogant, knowing smirk was practically audible, and I ignored him as I held Tweek's wrists before they went for his scalp.

-

That chair was ridiculously comfortable, and when Tweek shakily informed me he had to change, I fell back into it, if not to occupy myself so I wouldn't peep in hopes of finding out if my imagination got his chest just right, than to… no, wait. That was why. The lazy comfort the armchair offered was simply a perk, in all honesty. But that damned merchandise wall was in my way, since I wanted to be able to see Tweek at the counter in all clarity. Taking it upon myself to make this possible, I pushed the chair back just enough so that when I sat back, I could easily observe the current barista's activities. The process was noisy, calling her attention and earning another small, skeptical frown from the girl. Melissa or something. It was obvious she still didn't trust me, remembering the similarly suspicious way I'd spent my time here yesterday when she was around. Naturally, my favorite finger told her what I thought of her opinion, even though she didn't seem all that bad. She was nice to Tweek, after all.

When Tweek emerged from the back room in that freakishly befitting barista uniform, I couldn't help that swell of warmth that sent blood in more than one direction. Hot _damn_, did he work that apron. Fuck. He started preparing something as the slightly older girl went to change, and I couldn't take my eyes off him. As something made a gargling, popping noise, he stood patiently, and his emerald eyes glistened; his eyelids slid shut, and what breath I managed to have left in my lungs hitched in my throat.

He was completely still. Not a muscle moved – he didn't twitch, or spasm, or cry out, and I watched in stunned silence as his chest rose steadily as he inhaled the heady aroma of his brew. When he smiled, I just about jazzed in my pants. Yeah, that sounds like a thousand different kinds of stupid, but he was so damned… _beautiful_. The jittery kid was turning me on and making me fall even _harder_. Shit, thanks to that blissful smile, I'd fucking _crash_.

The girl came out, and almost got away with a simple good-bye, but Tweek snapped out of his rare trance, and called for her to wait. I re-learned that her name was Marissa, as Tweek scrambled to pour her another cup of that coffee she liked.

"Tweek," she began quietly, "You didn't hafta do this." She smiled a sad, grateful smile, and I noted distantly that she was quite pretty.

"_Hngh_." He tried a tiny smile, twitching. "I wanted to, _ngh_, Marissa. It's on the—ACK!—house," he replied sweetly. "Every, _ngh_, time."

"God, I hope that kid knows you're this sweet," she muttered. Tweek didn't seem to catch it, but with _my_ hearing, _I_ definitely did, and it didn't take a genius to figure out she meant me. My assumption was confirmed when she threw a distrusting glance at me again. "Bye, Tweek."

"See ya, _hrk_, Marissa," Tweek quickly responded. When she was gone, he looked around carefully. "Um, C-Craig?" he whispered.

"'M here," I said, leaning further back to catch his sight and accidentally startling him. "I think I'll hang out 'til you're done," I told him with a smirk, crossing my legs to mask my hard-on.

"AUGH!" he shrieked. "That is _way_ too much _pressure_!"

"You got this," I reminded him firmly, expressionless once again. Giving him a thumbs-up I added, "Just do what you do. Pretend I'm not here." He was so much more… comfortable when he thought he was alone here.

"Oh Jesus," he whimpered, fidgeting. "Do you want some, _ngh_, some coffee?" he inquired anxiously.

"Sure, Tweekers," I allowed, smiling slightly. Then something moved in my peripherals; my gaze shifted to the glass storefront once Tweek turned to expertly brew, and I felt my stomach drop as an all-too-familiar bulk of man approached the door, haggard and red-faced, in every negative sense of the term. He was back from his overnight business trip.

"Fuck _me_," I growled darkly as my father wildly threw the door open and heave himself inside.

This was not going to end well.

* * *

The **A/N **at the end: Oh. My. Gods. What the fuck, this took me like, two weeks to get up (Ha, that's what _he_ said.) BAD, BAD, _BAD_ Madds! AUGH!

So I've been procrastinating, as you can see. I don't even really know what I've been doing _instead_, but it hasn't been homework or this for the last two weeks. TT_TT ._.' I confess, this chapter gave itself so many roadblocks and clichés, and in turn gave _me_ writers' block. Wanna know another secret?

I almost gave up. I was this close to throwing my notebook across the classroom and yelling, "FUCK IT, I DON'T KNOW WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS! AUGHLUFLAHBARGNIFFEH!!" However, we were about to discuss Nazism's origins, and the room had actually gone quiet for once, so I swallowed my self-doubt and simply closed my notebook. Luckily for all of us, inspiration hit after school, when I was in a meds-wearing-off stupor/high, and I raced through four written pages and FINISHED THE CHAPTER! =D

_Win!_

That's also my excuse for the weak final… 4/5 of the chapter. O3o So, so much _boring_. Abundant amounts of lame, and I'm seriously sorry.

Also: I confess, I've been a dAmn addict for a few days, and that's part of what's been eating my time. ^_^'


	15. Daddy Dearest

**A/N**: Um, there's some actual conflict in this chapter. =o Another established antagonist! =D And I think it's pretty much been agreed that no one is saddened by who it is this time. =] This chapter was a fairly different experience for me to write, mostly cuz it's a lot less thought and a lot more action. O3o This is partly thanks to certain reviewers (y'all know who you are), and partly to shake things up and test out a new style. Maybe the difference won't be noticeable to you guys, but I know it will be for me. =_=

Also: I got my first ultra-negative review on Valentine's Day! =D *feels accomplished* But whatever. I'm over it.

Anyhow, enough author's notes, and on to the much-delayed chapter I owe everyone! ._.'

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

_Tweek's P.O.V._

Daddy Dearest

The door chimed, startling me and letting a chilly draft sweep into the shop. The smell of disquiet hit me before his physical presence did, and a horrified tension froze me on the spot for a split second. That bizarre hate and unsurprising fear filled my lungs and I jerked forward slightly as a sudden bout of nausea clamped onto my guts. Whirling around, I suppressed a screech at the sight of Craig's father. He stood in front of the counter, wheezing heavily as he gazed up at the menu above. Biting my lip in an effort to keep quiet, I glanced feverishly behind his hefty build to Craig; my effort was made that much more urgent when I saw his azure eyes narrowed coldly, nostrils flared in a growing snarl. Even if I didn't already know, anyone who looked would've seen the resentment he held for the man, the pent-up rage and hurt.

"Welcome to, _ngh_, Harbucks," I strained, unable to look the red-haired mass in the face. "M-may I take your order? _Hngh_," The last thing I wanted to do was talk to this man – he scared me more than Craig ever did, and the cruelty he reeked of sent my nerves and paranoia in to hyper-drive. What was he doing here? Didn't Craig say he went on a business trip? Oh wait – oh MAN! It was an overnight trip; of _course_ he'd be back! Though the thought that he liked coffee – that he could have any connection outside Craig to _me_ – was sickening, and started to dominate my mind. "GAH!" I shouted when he finally looked down to me, calling me from my thoughts with muddy brown eyes.

"What's _your_ problem, twitchy?" he sneered. "Get me a medium latte."

Whimpering, I nodded, turning to get to work, thankful that I could look away from the horrible man. Anger bubbled in my chest, and as I foamed the milk, I was sorely tempted to throw the burning liquid in his face. My own willingness to cause harm frightened me, and I winced at the very consideration of causing even a nasty… _dick_ like Mr. Tucker pain. My life was full of it – I couldn't wish that on someone else! Maybe what I really wanted was for him to _go away_ and leave Craig alone.

"Christ, kid – are you _on_ something? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"SWEET JESUS!" Whipping around to face him, I gripped at the counter behind me for support as my fear easily overcame my anger. "What?? _Hrgck._"

Scowling, the man with invisible daggers being glared into his back crossed his fat arms in front of himself. "You a crack head?" he demanded, sneering again. "Or have you got Tourette's? Cuz you're a real _freak_, kid," he chuckled.

"_Ngh_!" Was he making fun of Tourette's syndrome?? He was obviously making fun of me, but now he was joking about a real disorder?? My jaw hung open in dumbstruck awe, my eyelid twitching of its own accord. "I'm not a, _hrk_, a junkie," I informed him defensively, mustering up the miniscule amount of courage I had to frown at him. "I…" Biting my lower lip briefly, I forced myself to lift my head a little bit more. "I don't have to, _ngh_, serve you, you know I can—ACK!—refuse," I timidly announced, grateful that I at least didn't stammer like I had moments ago.

"The hell you _don't_," Mr. Tucker growled, eyes shifting shortly around the café. He backed away slightly, and slowly made his way toward the gap that separated the customers from the baristas – the only exit from behind the counter without having to climb over the register. Panic seized my throat and my eyes widened as he menacingly blocked the gap; I stumbled quickly sideways, running backward into the farthest counter from him, my heart pounding erratically against my ribcage.

"Who do you think you are, you _freak_?" he lowed dangerously, russet eyes narrowing and making me clasp at my hair nervously. "Don't you talk to _me,_ you _faggot_," he snapped, approaching me at a mockingly slow pace, making my tremors pique violently. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Craig jolt up out of his chair, the cold anger turned to fiery rage. "You can't talk to me that way, you fucking _cocksucker_," he bit, right up in my face. I shrieked, shutting my eyes tightly and flinching, throwing an arm up over my face, trembling severely. A sweaty hand seized my wrist and yanked it down. "Shut up, you stupid brat!" he commanded when I cried out, squeezing my wrist aggressively and earning a small squeal from me. "I could fucking _kill_ you."

"JESUS CHRIST!" I screamed. _He's insane, he's insane, he's absolutely insane!_

"Get your fucking hands OFFA HIM!"

I popped an eye open and managed to release another cry as the brutal man's grip was torn away, leaving me sore and extra terrified. Craig stood firmly behind his mass of father, hand on his shoulder; he drew it back quickly as the man faltered slightly, thrown completely off his game, shocked. Craig slipped past him and to me as he recovered, blinking rapidly in stunned disbelief. Planting his feet with a stony expression, the unbearably handsome ebony-haired boy lifted his chin in cold, blatant defiance.

"What're you doing, dad?" Craig challenged the reddening man, narrowing his penetrating blue gaze. "Are you assaulting _strangers_ now in your spare time?" He smirked, but clearly wasn't amused. "Really?" he scoffed, disgust lacing his tone. "I thought _I_ was your favorite punching bag?"

His ginger father made a strange, growling noise in his throat, a fury worse than before lighting in his murky brown eyes. "How _dare_ you speak to me like that, you little _shit_," Mr. Tucker spat, turning to face us again, his enraged scowl encompassing his entire sweaty face. Craig tensed as I screamed in sheer horror – he almost looked like the demons from my nightmares! "How _dare_ you give me lip, you fucking _punk_!" snarled the man, fists clenching at his sides as he bared his teeth like an animal.

Craig said nothing, pushing me behind him and widening his stance as he stood before me. Like the coward I was, I huddled fearfully behind the taller, braver boy in possession of my heart, gripping at the back of his dark blue hoodie as his horrible father moved even closer. His pace was once again mocking, but his face held heat in place of sadism, though I could easily guess he got some sick pleasure out of abusing his son or others. Kind-of like I get a pathetic rush from being near Craig…

"What do you think _you're_ doing, dipshit?!" barked the round man, "Where did _you_ come from?!" His heavy breathing induced my panicked hyperventilation as he reminded me of every horror movie I'd ever somehow seen; didn't every foul slasher breathe like that?? "Who's that twitchy little _fag_ to you, anyway?"

Still silent, Craig put his arm back and brushed against my hip, nudging me further behind him, since I had managed to summon the courage to peek past him. His cool hand met the skin above my jeans, and while I had to bite my lip in order to stifle a squeal, my severe trembling died down to a few consistent shivers. It was unhealthy, I think, how he could calm me down like that when the situation was so dire. But I shut my eyes when I saw Mr. Tucker's hand rise into the air, plainly preparing to strike.

"Don't. You _dare_. Talk about him," Craig murmured darkly, lowering his chin to glare through his eyelashes, through his dark bangs. This was not something just anybody could pull off (though it would certainly scare _me_ no matter who tried), but when Craig glowered at his father like that, the violent beast hesitated, doubt flickering in his dirt-brown eyes. His son – whom he'd abused for years on end without much difficulty – was finally, truly standing up to him, and with a scary glare to boot. For a split second, a hope that he'd retreat crossed my terminally pessimistic mind, but the cruel fire returned to his eyes by anger at his typically blank son's retaliation to his seemingly unfounded hate.

"You back-talking _faggot_!"

I couldn't withhold my scream when I heard the undeniable sound of vicious flesh contact, and forced myself to look; Craig's head was turned to the side, undoubtedly from being struck. He betrayed absolutely no emotion, bringing his face back to look at him again. "I thought so," he commented, almost at a whisper as he pressed harder onto my hip. "We can do this at home, dad." He smirked slightly, arrogantly, aiming his beautiful, bruising face upward. "Unless you want to tell the public about your domestic issues _yourself_."

As if on cue, the bell chimed above the door – the signal that someone had entered. Mr. Tucker's livid expression fell immediately, as if he had simply removed a mask. Craig's smirk held its place, even as his insane father narrowed his gaze and stepped back, straightening his rumpled business suit and clearing his throat. Spinning on his heel, he left the baristas' area, adjusting his tie as casually as possible.

Craig's shoulders relaxed, and he whirled around, grabbing my own urgently, sapphire eyes wide. I shrieked, still in shock, my mind instantly getting stuck on his mesmerizing orbs. "Tweek!"

"AUGH, what?!"

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly, one hand slipping to gently squeeze my upper arm in a heartrending display of affection as the other hand took the side of my flushed face. A panic that better befitted _me_ sparked in his azure eyes. "I can't fuckin' believe him," he muttered, scowling and examining my face and person, pausing on my wrist and lifting it to eye level. I suspected I'd begin to bruise a little soon, but there weren't any marks yet. "I swear, if he touches you again, I'll…" His expression morphed to pained and worried, and he met my dumbfounded stare. "I'll deal with him. He might pitch a fit or some shit, but I'm not letting him near you ag—"

Unconsciously, I held the ethereal beauty in my hands, shivering like a mobile on vibrate and cutting him off mid-word. He blinked, genuinely surprised, setting his larger, cooler hands on mine as my mind screamed paranoid rejections. My gaze slid to his cheek, where a small cut I somehow hadn't noticed before appeared to have been reopened, and a guilty anxiety rushed throughout my veins. Again without thinking, I ran my thumb under the miniscule laceration, catching a bead of crimson in a moment of numb morbidity and bringing it to my face. Eyelid twitching, I opened my mouth lamely to say something, gazing at the blood, but could think of nothing.

"Were you scared?" Craig carefully asked, watching my horrified eyes, "I'm so sorry about this. I really will take care of—"

"You, _ngh_, you're hurt," I stated in a small way, interrupting him again and meeting his cool gaze. Sadness accompanying that bizarre hatred filled my lungs, and my regular trembling intensified. "I know about small injuries, _ngh_, like this, C-Craig, and I, _hrk_, know this isn't even from just—GAH!—now," I told him weakly. "When did he, _ngh_, do this?"

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. "It's nothing, Tweekers." An inappropriate swell of joy rose in my chest at his nickname for me. "Don't worry 'bout it."

"I-I'm worried about it!" I defiantly protested, biting my lip.

He chuckled, startling me. "It's bloody fantastic when you're assertive, kid." I whined when he ruffled my hair and brought my hands down, tenderly kissing the top of my head before pulling me into his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered as I squealed and grunted awkwardly, almost immediately nuzzling my face into his strange warmth. "I'm sorry…"

"A_hem_."

Shrieking, I leapt backward. Craig stopped me just in time from crashing into the espresso machine by catching the small of my back. Flustered, I tried to right myself, and only succeeded in screeching again. "Kenny—ACK!—what're _you_ doing here, _hngh_??" I whimpered incredulously. Craig flipped him off right away.

"Did I miss something?" the hooded teen wondered, seeming worried. "That guy was really suspicious, and then I come in to find you two having a moment." He paused. "Not that I disapprove of _moments_," he added lightly, smiling hesitantly as if silently requesting an explanation.

"Family drama," Craig dismissed, lithely releasing me to let me stand on my own. He didn't leave the barista area, though, and I felt safer still with him staying. The raven gave the blonde the finger for the second time.

"What, no 'don't worry' for _me_?" Kenny raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Want me to worry for you?"

"AUGH! How long were you, _ngh_, standing there?!"

"Just since the fat man walked out." He shrugged, leaning against the counter casually. "There was something really off about him…" he restated, glancing at the door.

"He's fuckin' psycho," Craig deadpanned, blinking slowly. Glancing at my strained expression, he gave me a small, weary smile. "He won't come here again," he assured me quietly, ruffling my ridiculous hair and tenderly brushing some out of my wide eyes.

"Fuck, you guys don't even _know_," Kenny scoffed, instigating a lighter mood with a humongous grin, his surprisingly straight teeth clicking together in some sort of… reference? Gesture? Joke? Oh god, what if it was code for something, and he was sending messages to someone in the security department with a new form of motion Morse code?? "Can you see it?" he asked, suspenseful as I sneaked a peek at the single security camera we had. It was only there for some odd health code reason or something, but considering we weren't being interrogated by the police – OH CHRIST – about Mr. Tucker, maybe it needed a battery change. Better yet, maybe they just weren't very useful…

"See _what,_ McCormick?" Craig retorted in his bored tone, placing an arm across my shoulders and pulling me to his side. Again I simultaneously whimpered and grunted, resulting in a strange, unattractive noise that he thankfully didn't seem to mind.

"How abso-fucking-lutely _perfect_ you guys fit."

"SWEET JESUS!" I shrieked, jumping slightly and instinctively reaching for my hair, grinding my teeth as I flushed brightly.

Rolling his sapphire eyes, the stunning ebony-haired boy with an arm over me gently pulled my hands away, giving my closest hand a small squeeze. I chomped into my bottom lip to keep from squealing. Flipping Kenny the bird, Craig slipped his hand into mine and began leading me out from behind the counter. "We're getting' outta here," he told the baked goods, strolling casually past our hooded companion and making for the door.

"_Hngh_, what??" I panicked. "I can't just, _ngh_, leave the shop like—GAH!—like this!" I protested nervously, fidgeting, torn between the long-dreamed-of chance to hold his hand and the metaphor-riddled lecture and grounding my dad would undoubtedly unleash if I left Harbucks unlocked and unattended. It was lucky enough that the company let him be owner of the South Park branch when he'd declined the first time they offered – what if they revoked the position and we became homeless?? Oh god, where would we _go_?? "My dad'll _kill_ me with metaphors, man! Not to mention he could lose, _ngh_, his job!" Twitching, I screeched, "Holy sin, the PRESSURE!"

"'S all right, Tweeky," Kenny piped up, winking and expertly leaping over the cashier counter. "Gotcha covered." He gave us a thumbs-up as Craig led us outside, flipping him off automatically. I screamed shortly again, the very thought of leaving a mischievous sex fiend who knew next to nothing about coffee to _work the shop alone_ already planning to become a nightmare.

"C'mon, Tweek," Craig murmured, dragging me swiftly down the street. I had to jog to keep up with his long-legged stride. "He's more competent than he lets on. Don't worry _too_ much…"

"Can I worry a, _ngh_, a little?" I asked genuinely, looking anxiously over my shoulder at the glowing Harbucks sign above the door and gnawing on my lower lip. "Does he know _anything_ about, _ngh_, coffee??"

"Doubt it," he said bluntly in return, looking around for something once we were a few blocks away.

Wailing a little to myself, I scanned the darkening streets, nostalgic fears of monsters lurking in the shadows and waiting for the opportune moment to pounce filling my paranoid mind to the brim. Demons from my nightmares and now Mr. Tucker's horrid face wavered mockingly under the street lamps, ragged teeth bared and furious scowls in place. I knew it was just my mistrustful mind playing tricks on me – really, I did, and this was one of the reasons I was still pretty scared of the dark – but I still averted my eyes to the sidewalk, squeezing Craig's strong hand for some small, sick comfort. He squeezed back, sending warm, relieved shivers up my arm. The cruel laughter of my nightmare-father echoed distantly, and Craig's own father's words repeated darkly in my head.

"_Who's this twitchy little _fag_ to you, anyway?!"_

"_Ngh_, C-Craig?" I uttered, "Where are you gonna go?"

"…Whadda you mean?" he asked after a moment, pausing in front of a legal building just off the main stretch of shops.

"ACK! Well, _ngh_, you shouldn't go home if your dad's so… _hrk_, so angry," I bashfully explained, tugging habitually on the hem of my forest green apron. I dared to look up at him, my breath hitching in my throat at the overwhelming sadness in his eyes. They shined with a deeply betrayed hurt, and as we locked gazes, I wanted to cry.

Craig can't be this _sad!_ He just _can't!_ I'd seen him cry on his mother's thin shoulder for exactly the same reason he looked so sad now, and the injustice of his so-called father's actions and words fueled the unfamiliar heat in my gut. Craig seemed on the brink of tears, knowing the look myself and recognizing it immediately, however well he wore a brave face, but he… if he actually cried…

He'd break my heart.

It's a stupid thing to say, considering my heart never had a chance to be _whole_, but Craig was supposed to be _solid_. He never failed as a devastating force in my life, and if he faltered like this… I couldn't even dream of helping him, even if he wanted me to. Coffee and Craig and paranoia were the only real constants in my life, and with my brain as fucked-up as it already was, how was I going to function at all with one – the most important one – just as broken as me? What if his sadness really did damage him as badly as my fear and self-loathing damaged _me_? OH GOD!

I don't want Craig to _ever_ be sad!

"AUGH, don't be sad, C-Craig!" I blurted, stupidly voicing my hectic thoughts and shortly crushing his hand as I went through a spasm in mild panic. "I know he's evil, I saw it—GAH!—saw it myself!" I confessed, realizing I'd probably compromised some vital, secret trust he didn't even know he'd entrusted to me. My free hand flew to cover my mouth, even though the deed was done, and he furrowed his brow, dropping my twitching fingers and taking a few steps closer.

"What are you talking about?" he asked with quiet caution, tilting his head so that the strings of his hat-flaps dangled over his broader shoulders.

"OH GOD!" I yelped, wishing I could smack myself for my blunder. "I didn't mean—I just—_ngh_!" I tried, scrambling for cover-ups. With my eyelid twitching, I yanked on my apron, fidgeting in place and stalling for time as I avoided his unerring gaze. "AUGH! This is _way_ too much _pressure!_" I loudly informed him, grinding my teeth as I forced myself to keep my hands away from my stupid hair.

"Dude, chill," he sighed, rolling his fantastically blue eyes and carefully placing his hand on my shoulder, making me shiver in the greatest sense of the action. "Lookit me." Of course, I obeyed. Smiling faintly, he raised an eyebrow. "…You knew who he was, didn't you?" he asked after a moment of studying my huge green eyes in thoughtful silence. The small smile disappeared, replaced by his typical blank mask. "My dream," he stated somberly. "How much did you see?"

He didn't ask with any anger or embarrassment, and I gnawed on my lip, searching for a decent answer, terrified of both fibbing _and_ telling him the truth. Would he resent me for seeing so much, or be relieved it was all I _did_ see? What if what I witnessed wasn't even a small part of what his past was like? What if his father was even _worse_ than that?? Oh my god – what if Craig had scars all over his body, and I never noticed?! I used to sneak glances occasionally in the locker room before P.E., before it occurred to me what just might happen if he ever caught me looking and I stopped being a sick idiot… I don't remember any unusual scars on his torso at least – anything I did see, I knew the story for, and his friends would go on about the fights, so—

"Tweek?"

"_Hrgck_, sweet Jesus! I saw from—um." I blinked rapidly, whimpering pathetically. "You might've been about, _ngh_, maybe twelve? You were on a couch, but then, _ngh_, your dad… Jesus Christ, C-Craig! You didn't even _do_ anything!"

Watching me silently, Craig brought his hand back, squaring his shoulders and shutting his eyes, brow knit. "So… a _lot_," he clarified, but I couldn't tell if it was for him or me. "You saw my mom?" he questioned quietly, in the sort of tone one uses when they've just thought of something. He opened his eyes to stare at me again.

"Yeah," I answered, unsure as I recalled a weathered blonde woman.

"…She's awesome, isn't she?" he asked, smirking as his eyes flashed with pride. "I love her to death," he told me lowly, nodding vaguely. "She's the reason I'm… here," he finished, his smirk turning to a slight frown.

"C-Craig?" I squeaked, worry more than obvious.

Eyes widening, he stiffened. "Fuck _me_," he murmured, upper lip lifted in distaste.

"OH CHRIST! What??"

"Mom!" Spinning on his heel, he shoved open the door of the ordinary office building we'd stopped in front of. "Stay here!" he shouted over his shoulder as an afterthought, but for some reason, I didn't even hesitate to disobey.

Rushing inside, I followed him past a confused lobby secretary and up two flights of stairs. By the time I'd caught up with him, winded to say the least, I had to clamp a hand over my lips to stifle a panicked shriek.

Craig stood rigidly in a long hall, outside a door with his hand hovering over the round handle, a hard expression on as shouts bombarded our ears. A gruff, furious man's voice was yelling obscenities and slurs, as a female sobbed her protest. The reason I'd almost shrieked was curling his fingers into fists, eyes flashing with cold rage as he slowly withdrew his hand. There were too many emotions in his face, and I thought he was going to explode.

"C-Craig!" I stage-whispered, desperate to get his attention despite having no idea of what I was going to say. He snapped his head in my direction, startling me, his eyebrows shooting up at my presence. "C-Craig, what's going—?"

The voice rose to a loud climax, and as a startled Craig stumbled away from the door, other office workers peeked out from their rooms, curious and concerned. The dark-haired teen I'd followed in instinctively gave everyone the finger, a scowl gracing his lips as the indistinct argument became clearer. Fretting over the stares on my back, I scuttled awkwardly over to Craig, squeaking as he glanced over at me once again, placing an index finger over his lips as if I wasn't already trying my best to be quiet.

"He's still my son, Thomas!" the distraught woman screamed.

"Well I'm not letting some good-for-nothing _faggot_ live in my house!" Mr. Tucker raged, "And I don't care if he _is_ my son!"

"The house was _my mother's_!" the woman rebutted, "You can't kick him out just because he… he…!"

"Fucks _men_?" offered Craig's father, disgust evident.

"IT'S NOT YOUR HOUSE!"

"That little _shit_ is not bringing homosexuality into our family!"

"Don't you talk about Craig like that!"

"If I see that freak he's fucking ever again, I'll fucking kill them _both_!"

"WHAT?!"

"Son of a—_that's_ it," Craig snarled, and before I could protest, he threw the door open and shoved his way inside. Both adults suddenly fell silent at the sight of him, and I jerked upright as he shouted, "FUCK YOU, DAD!" His voice dropped dramatically as he went on darkly. "I don't care if you hate my guts, but if you go anywhere _near_ Tweek ever again – you're gonna find out how hard it is to live without your goddamn _lungs_."

The woman Mr. Tucker was arguing with had tears in her familiar sapphire eyes, and if I hadn't guessed from the content of the shouting match, I could certainly tell now it was Craig's mother. I recognized her from his dream, but she looked even more distressed than she had before. His father's beady eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling and fat fists clenching. Craig stood his ground in the cramped office, head held high and expression blank with dangerous, serious calm.

"Don't you talk to me that way, you fucking _brat_," the ginger man growled after recovering from the initial shock. His muddy eyes flicked over to me, and I couldn't withhold a scream at the pure malice in his eyes. "You did this to him, didn't you, twitchy _faggot_?!" he demanded bitterly, pointing theatrically with an accusatory arm and rushing forward.

"Ah!" Gripping at my hair, I stumbled backward into the hall wall. "I didn't _mean_ to! _Hrgck._"

The man made to come after me, but Craig stepped into the doorway, stopping the psychotic man in his tracks. "No," he said lowly. "Leave him out of this. Your issue is with _me_, dad. Go ahead and hit me – 's not like I'm not used to it."

"NO!" Mrs. Tucker screamed, leaping in front of her son as her violent husband swung a fist. Once again, the room was stunned into silence, and I gawked dumbly as the woman shook, raising a hand to her jaw and letting a sob out. "No, Thomas…" she breathed haggardly, "You won't hit my son ever again."

"Mom—" Craig finally said, worry and desperation betraying his aloof persona and etching into his features. "Mom, it's okay, I'll—"

"No!" she repeated, this time for her son. "I've let him do this for too long!" Struggling to compose herself, she let the ebony-haired boy hug her tightly and stroke her messy hair before she raised her head. Frowning deeply, she took an unsteady breath and faced the heavyset man standing before them with a lost look on his face. "I'm through being afraid Thomas," she told him gravely. "I loved you once, but you hurt our _child_." Tears threatened to pour again, but she bravely held them back, and a part of me ached, even though I envied her strength. "I've never understood why you abuse Craig! How _could_ I? How could _anyone_ understand such a thing? You've changed since I fell in love with you!"

The teenager holding her shut his eyes and held her closer, shaking his head. Suddenly I felt invasive, the way I had watching Craig's memories. But what if Craig's dad tried to attack him again?? I already felt partly responsible for tonight, even if I _was_ completely useless, if I were Craig, I wouldn't want to be alone. Hell, _I_ don't want to be alone, not with the ghosts of my nightmares and Craig's father around…

"E-… Elizabeth…?" Mr. Tucker began, the red slowly leaving his round face as heat faded. "Lizzy, I…"

"Don't '_Lizzy_' me!" she snapped, scowling and choking on a sob. "I'm—you're—you can't—Thomas!"

"Mom, I can leave," Craig murmured, eyes darting across the floor. "You don't have to worry—"

"_No_, Craig." Elizabeth Tucker looked up at her quiet son, and took a deep breath again, steeling herself, it seemed. She turned on her unsure husband. "Get out, Thomas." She tugged on the rave, pulling on his sleeve so he was out of the doorway. "Get out of my office, and get out of my house."

"Mom?" Craig said incredulously, looking at her as if she'd told him she was secretly from outer space and was actually an Ambassador to Earth for an advanced alien race. OH GOD! Does that mean Craig is part Martian??

"SWEET JESUS!" I blurted when Mr. Tucker moved toward me, brown eyes narrowed grudgingly; Craig reached out and pulled me into the small room, out of the path of the path to the exit, where his father was headed. I stumbled a little, but managed to stay upright as the man pushed past me silently, startling Mrs. Tucker's co-workers and sending them scrambling back to work. Looking up at him nervously and unintentionally twitching, I tried to speak, but could find nothing to say on top pf still being incredibly rattled.

"Craig," the beautiful woman spoke after a moment of minimal response. "Craig… is it true?" Her voice broke, and he cast his matching gaze to the thin carpet. "Are you… _gay_?"

"Oh Jesus," I whimpered, fearing another storm.

"I don't know, mom," he finally indulged, urging me closer with his hold on my wrist. Flinching automatically when he lifted his hand, I let myself relax more when he ruffled my untidy locks. "But this kid is pretty cool."

"GAH!"

Looking me carefully up and down, wiping at her eyes with a tissue produced from her blouse, she gave me the frightening impression I was being sized up. "Hello, young man," she said softly, unsure of my twitching demeanor. "Who might you be?"

Swallowing a shout, I glanced to her curious blue orbs, finding none of the baseless anger that had been in her husband's eyes. She made me feel just a little safer, the way Craig did, but maybe more like… It was more like she made my heart warm, while her gorgeous son made my heart swell. Somehow, my gaze didn't falter when it met hers, and I found my willing voice. "My name is, _ngh_, Tweek," I offered shyly, beginning to feel invasive again. "Hello, Mrs. Tucker—AUGH!"

"Are you all right, Tweek?" she asked cautiously, brow creased as she frowned slightly. "Those're some awful shivers you've got there," she noted with a genuine concern I still wasn't used to hearing from people.

"He likes coffee," Craig offered flatly, nodding once and tousling my hair once again.

"…Craig," she murmured, a few stray flaxen hairs falling from her messy bun, "Craig… I don't want you to get hurt." Her voice broke on the last word, emitting a small gasp and earning a small shriek from me in return. A hand over her mouth as tears welled again, she stepped to him and brushed the fringe from his eyes. "It's not just your father," she began weakly as Craig held his hand on hers. "There are others who will want to hurt you – _both_ of you!"

"Yeah, well…" Craig struggled, gritting his teeth. "Let 'em _try_."

"OH JESUS," I interrupted dumbly, instantly regretting ever having opened my mouth. "Mrs. Tucker, _ngh_, ma'am?"

The distraught older woman blinked dazedly, before both she and her saddened son turned to me. The pressure of their matching gazes was almost too much to bear, but I forced myself to continue. "Um, your son—GAH!—C-Craig, he's really, _ngh_… He's so brave." Oh man, that was so _cheesy_ and _stupid_, they'd think I was an idiot! His courage was already more than obvious, after all! The Tuckers looked at me for what felt like an eternity, and it took all my fading effort to keep from yanking on my hair and screaming about aforementioned, crushing pressure.

"I know," she whispered, turning her attention back to her son, who met her sad eyes with his own. "I know…"

-

Craig's mother went home to "continue sorting things out" after that, and Craig decided to follow me somberly back to Harbucks, expression dull despite the heavy aura of gloom riding his back. He walked right next to me in the yellow light of the street lamps, and even with his mood so foul and his thoughts elsewhere, my pathetic, selfish mind was grateful for the way he still managed to lessen my fears. I wanted so badly to hold his hand, partly in hopes of maybe being helpful, but was too afraid of adding to the damage or being flat-out rejected. Oh Jesus!

What if he avoided me??

I mean with his dad getting kicked out, maybe there wouldn't be too many consequences – but who am I kidding? With _my_ luck, he'd take his father's accusation and find it real – that I was a bad influence, and that _I_ made him gay (was he even really gay, though??). He'd revoke any inclination he might've had toward me! HOLY SHIT! I'm a bad influence! He wouldn't be _in_ this mess if it weren't for me!

"AUGH! I'm sorry, c-Craig!"

Halting, he finally looked over at me, stopping me in my tracks with just one look. I bit my lip and tugged habitually on my apron, trembling helplessly under the weight of his distracted stare. "You didn't do anything wrong," he told me quietly, no particular emotion in his voice.

"_Ngh_, but if it weren't for _me_—"

"What did I say about apologizing when it's not your fault?" he cut in, irate. "We've been through this."

"Oh man," I squeaked, flinching at his tone. "Don't, _ngh_, do it?"

"Exactly." He continued to watch me, even when I nervously tore my eyes away. "Shit was bound to happen; my dad has always hated me. He tried to hide it for awhile, but one day, it just… exploded. He would've found some stupid reason to kick me out eventually. It just came easier than he thought it would." Stepping closer, he lifted my chin and forced me to meet his cool azure eyes. I held my breath in a mixture of excitement and anxiety. "Don't think I'm gonna resent you. I know you're scared of that right now – I can see it in your frickin' huge eyes. Don't think I won't still be here. I made you a promise, remember? No fat, evil son of a dickfuck is gonna make me break it."

I nodded the little I could with my head in his palm, grasping mindlessly at his sweatshirt. "Okay, C-Craig," I strained, my heart in my parched throat.

Blinking, he lightly set a kiss on my forehead, sweeping some hair out of my face to reach my skin. I didn't squeal, though, even as he gently pulled me into a firm, weary hug and released a ragged breath. Carefully, I put my thin arms around his waist and pressed my face into his shoulder as he rested his head on mine. I started slightly when I felt his knees give out, but controlled a shriek and tried to ease us to the dampened ground. The tables had turned – now it was _I_ who held _him_ in sadness, though it was all I could do not to cry myself.

"I'm sorry, Tweek," he breathed, a choking noise sounding after he spoke. "I… you're brilliant, okay?" I shuddered with a sick joy, clasping onto him tightly and relishing the warmth he had. He ran a hand through my chaotic hair, playing absentmindedly with the locks and slowly pulling back. "I'm such a dick for getting you involved," he said bitterly, aiming my head up and repositioning us both so I was in his lap, just like in my dream. Urging me to lean against him, he murmured, "I just keep fucking up. I'm sorry."

While his body pressed to mine was exhilarating and nerve-wracking and beguiling, his last statement caught my attention and sparked my panic. My blush was already vibrant, but now it might've glowed. Squirming, I looked directly at him and stated, "_Hngh_, shit happens."

Craig blinked. He then burst into jubilant laughter, saying in between gasps for air, "Oh my god, you were so _serious_!" I shrieked, flushing brighter and yanking on my hair. Craig automatically took my hands down, and calmed himself. "You're right, Tweek. Shit happens," he allowed darkly, mood shifting from amused to bleak at an alarming rate. "I just wish it didn't have to happen _now_."

With no clue as to what else to do, I hesitantly laced fingers with the hands holding my waist. "I'm sorry, _ngh_, C-Craig," I said quietly. This time he didn't scold me for saying it.

-

I had to go back to Harbucks, of course, to make sure Kenny hadn't let the frother catch fire or the syrups fall to the floor. What if he tried to make an espresso and the machine broke down? What it _exploded_, and everything else followed suit?? I wouldn't have time to fix anything, let alone clean up the spilled syrups and put out the frother flames!

I bolted anxiously for the shop, startling Craig and enticing him to follow, bursting through the door and screaming Kenny's name desperately. Immediately, I was thrown by the absolute normality of the place – everything was as it should be, where I left it, or occupied by a customer. In fact, I was apparently a disruption, calling the attention of relaxed coffee drinkers and interrupting what seemed to be a pleasant conversation between Kenny and a well-endowed college girl. The orange-clad teenager cocked his head bemusedly and excused himself, wearing an enormous, satisfied grin and winking at Craig as he came in behind me, flipping him off.

"Told ya I gotcha covered," he said lowly, leaning casually on a table and surveying the shop meaningfully. "This barista stuff ain't so bad."

Eyelid twitching, I sucked in a breath I'd unconsciously withheld and heaved out a relieved sigh, clutching nervously at my heart and forcing myself to relax, taking solace in Craig's presence. He eyed me carefully, watching me sideways and stepping closer. This meant I could breathe again.

"_Hrk_, Kenny? How'd you do it? ACK!" I jumped sideways when he lightly socked me in the arm, Craig shooting him a glare.

"I know more than you'd think. Plus, I've watched you a few times. I can figure shit out," he elaborated with a chuckle, smirking as I habitually rubbed at my upper arm. "Most people didn't want anything too fancy, anyway. But is it normally this crowded?" Before I could answer, however, he addressed the stoic noirette at my side. "C'mere, Tucker."

Craig rolled his eyes, which we'd taken the time to dry with the edge of my apron (which I now didn't really want to wash—OH GOD I'M A CREEPER!), and slipped over to him, demanding flatly, "What, Kenny."

"You 'n me should apply for jobs here," he insisted.

Craig raised an ebony brow at the suggestion, and in the time it took for him to flick him off again with a shrug, Kenny's word finally sank in, hitting me like Wiley Coyote gets hit with anvils – hard and fast. As Kenny opened his mouth to go on, I let out a short shriek, cutting him off as my fingers tangled into my hair of their own accord.

"Oh god!" I wailed. "That would be _so_ much PRESSURE!" Again, I was unintentionally attracting attention to myself, and as Craig pulled my arms down with one hand, he displayed his favorite finger to the innocent bystanders. "You guys can't, _ngh_, work here!" I stage-whispered, twitching violently and gaping at them stupidly. "If you guys came here, _ngh_, and worked—OH CHRIST! What if someone broke the grinder? Or a blender? Or, _ngh_, or made the wrong order and somebody, _hrk_, SUED?? I don't wanna go to court! Bailiffs scare me!" I rambled in a particularly neurotic voice.

"Dude, Tweek, chill," Craig mumbled, bumping my shoulder with his and staying against me. "You could teach us how stuff works, you know," he said, shrugging dismissively. I felt my cheeks grow warm again, and he glanced down at me and smirked a little.

"We'd be learning from the best, after all," Kenny threw in, donning another humongous grin and pushing himself to his feet, heading back toward the barista area. I felt a strange sense of… did he just _flatter_ me?? "Teach us, oh coffee mahstah," he joked in a poor rendition of a Japanese accent, walking backward and bowing with his hands together.

"Shut up, McCormick," Craig groaned, smirking nonetheless and tapping my heel with his shoe. I yelped, rushing forward and ignoring the stares as best I could, looking nervously over my shoulder at him. He followed, but froze when Kenny came back out from behind the counter wearing a green apron that matched mine. The tall boy glared coldly when the orange-clad poor boy held an arm out to him.

"What the fuck. No."

"C'mon, Craig, it's part of the uniform." Kenny pouted, and I twitched as I suddenly imagined the protesting teen in it, still grandly masculine and elegant in countless ways. "Don't you wanna work with Tweeky, Craigers?" he purred, smirking deviously.

Snarling briefly, he snatched the garment from the giggling boy and threw the thing on, tying it quickly and pushing past him. I only noticed I was staring when Kenny elbowed me lightly in the ribs, and had to bite my lip to keep from screaming with fright and embarrassment.

"Let's do this," Craig stated lowly, a new determination in his face. "Make me think of something… else. I don't hafta be anywhere any time soon."

"Me neither!" Kenny piped in cheerfully.

I wondered vaguely how this had happened – how had I ended up standing in Harbucks with two people that might've actually _liked_ me on either side of me? Kenny, a friendly, funny, energetic Mr. Advice, and Craig, my decade-long crush and former tormentor turned… boyfriend? It didn't seem real. But I let myself smile shyly, and said, "_Ngh_, where to start…" I mumbled, Craig ruffling my hair and making me squeak.

"What's this for?" Craig asked, pointing at the frothing rod on the biggest machine.

My eyelid spazzed a little and I whimpered, realizing I had a _lot_ of work to do…

* * *

**A/N** at the end: Oh Christ. Don't hate me for taking nearly three weeks to update! D= This chapter was hard to write, cuz I couldn't decide how I wanted the drama to play out. There was a ton of erasing, and even a ripping out – parts like this always give me a hard time. Keeping people in character is ridiculously hard, especially when they're still changing as people. =3=


	16. Perfect?

**WHAT IS THIS 334 REVIEWS BUSINESS?!**

You guys, this fic is really not worthy. Seriously. I don't know why you seem to like it. But you guys rock my pants off. Fuck, broskis.

**A/N**: So I thought getting sick would make writing faster, cuz I'd have more time, but there's a lot more hurt and tired that comes with whatever the hell it is I'm supposed to have than there was when it first showed up. ._.' I'm also on massive amounts of drugs, and my voice sounds funny. Zithromax and Tylonol Codine on top of my recently upped Straterra are making me the tiniest bit loooooopy. =D At least I'm not on legal speed like I was last time. O_o

There's a little bit of aaaaangst, okie-day? I hope it plays out the way I hoped it would. =o (lulz, wat?)

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

_Craig's P.O.V._

"Perfect?"

Making coffee wasn't so bad. I mean, at home I hardly ever make it, but when I do it seems like a chore. Here, with Tweek erratically explaining what black equipment did what to coffee beans or milk or whatever, I was actually… having fun. It was weird, but with Kenny teasing us both (effectively flustering the caffeine-addict) and generally screwing around, and Tweek unsteadily helping me handle the steamer as he showed me how to make some fancy drink for some guy passing through town, I was enjoying myself. It took my mind off of the infuriating drama that lingered in my mood, and the dark cloud of ominous curiosity of what was going to happen next, of what would happen when I got home.

"So, wait." Kenny's bright voice successfully called my attention from worrying over worrying, and Tweek grunted and jerked upright, having handed a customer his drink. "The cream has to be cold, doesn't it?" He stood by the insulated pitchers of milk and creamers, a devious smirk on his face. Tweek nodded, looking confused and nervous at the upturn of Mr. Advice's lips. I sensed a bad joke coming on. "Wouldn't it be better if the cream was hot?"

I had to resist the temptation to pinch the bridge of my nose like jockface Stan, but quickly flipped the hooded kid off to quell the urge.

Tweek's eyelid twitched, and he let out a small, questioning, "_Hngh_?"

"Ignore him," I suggested to my small, twitchy caffeine-addict.

"Why would it be be, _ngh_, hot?" Tweek asked before I could finish speaking. He glanced apologetically up at me afterward, wincing and scrambling to a new customer I hadn't noticed, vibrating nervously.

"Well," Kenny began, grinning delightedly and distracting both of us as my blonde counterpart moved to start the espresso drip. "Doesn't _hot cream_ sound so much better?"

"Dude," I grumbled, scowling disbelievingly at the hooded kid. "Really? That was _so_ bad."

"ACK! _What??_" Tweek yelped, jerking into me as a panicked spasm hit, blushing as he realized what was being insinuated. I was halfway between wanting to punch Kenny in the gut and trying not to imagine Tweek's blushing face covered in… But I was this close to getting hard at the thought, and quickly had to mask my burst of lust with indifference. I flipped Kenny off for good measure. "Kenny, _ngh_, why do you hafta say that??" Tweek simpered as I rolled my eyes in a continuous effort to appear unaffected. Avoiding both our gazes as Kenny chuckled, Tweek fidgeted in place and impatiently waited for the espresso to finish filling the huge cup underneath.

"Aw, Tweeky – it's okay to be embarrassed!" Kenny assured him, giving the unsure customer a winning smile and instantly sending her into a stupor. I flipped them off. "I bet I know whose hot cream _you'd_ like," he purred in the shivering boy's ear, inciting a flair of possessiveness in me. _If he was hitting on Tweek_…

Tweek was effectively startled, causing him to back into me, nearly dropping the huge cardboard coffee cup in his hand. "_Zzzzeeeeeergh_," he strained, neck popping as his head snapped upward to gawk at me when I caught the hot beverage just before it could spill across his front and the floor… We blinked at each other, and it didn't take a Kyle or a Token to figure out who was thinking about what. "Meep," he uttered.

Giggling gleefully, Kenny took the coffee from my hand and gave it to the dazed, tired woman on the other side of the counter. "Thank you, come again!" he chirped, smiling brilliantly. As soon as she turned to go, he looked over at Tweek and me, somehow frozen in bashful excitement. My pulse was more than just racing, with those shimmering emerald eyes gazing in shock up at me, his smaller body leaning so innocently, so accidentally against mine. All previous worries of Kenny flirting with him vanished.

Fuck. I really wanted to ravish him. Like, I wanted to spin that shaking, frail frame around, push him into the nearest counter, and fucking _devour_ those trembling, chapped lips. He was so _warm_, and that adorable blush on his beautiful face… damn.

"Uh, guys? If you're gonna mack, get going – don't leave a brutha hangin'!"

"GAH!" Jumping, Tweek stared at the orange-clad boy with wide green eyes, gnawing his lower lip and making my breath hitch in my throat. "Kenny!" he squealed, as if scandalized, eyes darting anxiously around the shop in case there were any eavesdroppers.

"Shut up, McCormick," I muttered, displaying my favorite finger and frowning briefly. "This isn't some _show_ for you, perv."

Pouting, Kenny whined in disappointment.

-

When it was closing time, around eight, Kenny used his magic Kenny charm to convince everyone out without argument. (That guy and his bizarre charisma. Jesus.) Tweek instructed me on cleaning up; even though it was pretty simple to put up chairs and power down machines, sweep up and wipe down tables, the fact that the jittery kid was taking charge made me smile a little. I told him I could handle it, that he should go change, and he nodded obediently, scampering off and leaving me to smirk to myself. Kenny was sweeping up near the barista counter as I overturned the last metal chair onto its table, and I heard him hiss at me.

Turning, I saw him grinning excitedly, and was immediately suspicious. He leaned on the handle of his broom, craning his neck to see around the corner of the back room. Its white light illuminated his handsome face more than the low mood lighting of the shop could. Narrowing my gaze, I cautiously walked toward him.

"What?" I hissed when he chuckled.

"Check it out," he whispered, moving back a little to make room for me, smirking. "Poor thing is so fucking _cute_, Craig."

Furrowing my brow with distrust, I leaned forward enough to see Tweek fumbling with his apron ties behind himself, biting his lip as he tried to look over his shoulder and whimpering with the effort. There was a drastic knot instead of a bow, which I privately accounted to his paranoia – he probably thought that it would fall off or something if he didn't secure it like a navy line. When he finally got it undone, slipping it over his head gratefully, he started taking his shirt off, exposing his pale stomach and successfully making my jaw pop open.

Oh god. His skin – his fiery, shivering skin. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_, his chest!

Before I could think better of watching, I was staring hungrily, a boner already growing in my jeans. Swearing under my breath and shoving Kenny away as he tried to peep again at the sight of my expression, I tried to tear my gaze away, to no avail. Part of me felt guilty, sure, for spying on him, but a bigger part of me was awed by the beauty of his scrawny frame, revealed to me at last. It was easy to tell he was skinny even when he had clothes on, but now that he was half-naked, I could see just how thin he really was. With his sharp hipbones jutting up, such prominent ribs, and a very defined collarbone, if I didn't know any better, I would've mistaken him for anorexic. His small nipples were hard from the chilly air coming from the concrete floor, and I almost reached for my crotch.

"Did it really take you this long to figure out you were gay, Craig?" Kenny asked through his sudden laughter, startling both Tweek and me.

Crying out, Tweek whirled around, stumbling over the rubber mats on the floor and falling flat on his ass, covering his bare chest with his removed shirt and turning bright pink. I threw myself back out of the doorway just in time to avoid being seen, glaring coldly at Kenny, who at least had the decency to look genuinely shamefaced. He looked up at the ceiling to avoid looking at me.

"GAH! Guys??" Tweek called out feverishly, the panic evident in his voice. "It – it's just you, _ngh_, right?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Tweek," I sighed in defeat, stepping into view and averting my eyes to steer clear of embarrassing either of us again.

"Oh, _ngh_, okay," he strained, his twitching visible on the edge of my vision. "I was scared a hobo had gotten, _ngh_, in and was trying to hold us up with, _ngh_, a broken bottle," he rambled anxiously, shyly facing away. I let myself watch his back as he slipped his thin arms through his shirtsleeves, still shaking. "There aren't any hobos, _hrk_, right??" he quickly questioned, turning swiftly to meet me with his enormous green eyes full of panic. "Where's Kenny?! AUGH!"

"I'm right here, Tweeky," Kenny announced, springing out from behind me and earning a startled screech from the excitable kid. "We closed up 'n stuff."

"And there are no crazy hobos," I added in assurance, catching sight once again of his skin, since he hadn't tried buttoning up yet.

"_Ngh_, okay," Tweek said in a small voice, following my gaze before I could look away and promptly jumping up, trying to finish dressing with trembling hands and fingers. Blinking, I forced myself to relax and look somewhere else, flipping off Kenny's satisfied smirk. "_Hrgck_," Tweek struggled, instantly calling my attention again. "Stupid… _hngh,_ buttons…" he was saying to himself, "Never get 'em, _ngh_, to… to…" Twitching violently, his hands flew up to yank thoughtlessly on his golden mane, his trembling getting worse. "AUGH! This is just so much _pressure_!" he wailed.

I was at his side in less than a split second, gently prying his stiff fingers from his scalp and combing a few knots out with my own, hushing him carefully. "Chill, Tweekers. Here – hold still," I murmured, moving lower and starting to button him up myself.

Tweek briefly went rigid, squeaking when I brushed the front of his pants in my haste to help him. He nervously played with the back hem of the shirt, eyes locked on my neck, making me uncharacteristically self-conscious. I left the top two buttons undone, remembering from experience how much more comfortable it was to be able to breathe. Okay, so I also kind-of liked seeing more skin on the guy, but he doesn't have to know that. When I stepped back to survey my handiwork, he fretfully looked up at me, and I couldn't resist. Leaning down just a little, I planted a firm, hungry kiss on his hot lips.

He let out a quick, shocked sigh before cautiously obliging me, kissing back – it was easy to tell he was incredibly insecure, since he started slower than he had when I'd first kissed him. Taking the side of his trembling face, I steadied him and took his hip with my free hand, urging him closer and begging entrance into his mouth. To my triumphant relief, his lips parted, and I was tasting his sweet, robust coffee flavor, unintentionally crushing his frame against me. He squealed, grasping at my jacket and submitting.

I let myself breathe him in, suddenly feeling desperate and just a little scared. He saw—_experienced_ what my family was like, saw the dysfunction between my father and I. What if he realized just how fucked-up I could turn out, and never let me do this again, never let me kiss him hard and hold him to me? What if my dad took it upon himself to punish him, since he seemed convinced Tweek had "turned" me gay? Suddenly my heart stopped, and I couldn't move.

What if he tried to hurt Tweek? Like – really, _really_ hurt him?

Holy shit.

"C-Craig?" Tweek questioned uncertainly, pulling away when I suddenly froze. His wavering emerald orbs were alight with alarm. "Are you, _ngh_, okay??" he worried quietly, searching my face frantically.

Even though this paranoia was possibly unrealistic, it was increasing my heart rate pretty effectively. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. What was I thinking, not getting up and confronting him outside when he showed up? How could I even let him get _near_ the quivering mass of nerves in my arms?

"Tweek," I began urgently. "Remember what I promised?"

"Ahh! Um—" He frowned, eyelid twitching. "Yes?"

Seizing his baffled face between my hands, I met his gaze dead-on. "Never forget it. Don't let me forget it either, okay?" I instructed lowly, determined.

"SWEET JESUS, okay, C-Craig!"

"_Peeerfeeect_," Kenny sing-songed wearily in the background. I gave him the finger, not wanting to bother figuring out what he meant, and kissed Tweek's forehead.

-

Since I didn't really want to go home yet, and Kenny informed us cheerily of the same, it was an unspoken, unanimous agreement between Mr. Advice and me that we would walk our shaky coffee fiend home. Tweek was wearing my gloves, at my insistence, and I snuck my fingers into his as we walked along the darkened, snowy sidewalks. It felt necessary, especially with my father on _my_ mind at least, and the way his huge eyes shifted anxiously between shadows and streetlamps. Kenny sauntered on his other side, once again seeming to read my worries. The hooded boy prattled on about something aimlessly, cracking a few jokes and coaxing a few tiny smiles out of my blushing caffeine-addict, unknowingly sending thrills through my veins.

"So I figure I c'n ask, now that I got y'all to myself," the orange-clad poor boy said, looking over Tweek's unkempt frizz of blonde to me. "Why'd it take this long, d'ya think?"

Even though I glared, I didn't actually hear any mockery in his question, but I flipped him off when Tweek twitched spasmodically, trying to process the question. I tousled his hair.

"Dunno, dude," I muttered truthfully, staring distantly ahead of us and squeezing Tweek's hand. "Ya think I haven't been asking myself the same thing lately?" I added snidely, the regret once again weighing heavily on my heart. Why'd he bring it up?

"_Hngh_, I said it was okay, remember, C-Craig?" Tweek shyly pointed out, returning the squeeze and finding my eyes. "I don't want you to, _ngh_, to feel obligated…"

"Oh, uh, Christ – I didn't mean to sound…!" Kenny sighed, swiping a hand down his face and groaning. "I just – I thought I saw it earlier, and was hoping maybe _you_ guys did, too…" I blinked dully at him, waiting for him to get to the point. "What I'm saying is," he tried again, unusually awkward for the persona we were used to, "I should have said it sooner. Maybe I should've stepped in earlier than I did. You guys are, like…" He seemed to struggle for words, causing our eyebrows to rise. "Like… ugh." He huffed shortly, obviously frustrated with himself. "Never mind. You're just so _perfect_ – like Stan and Kyle perfect—" He stopped short, the guilt registering instantly on his attractive face.

Ha. Like I didn't already know about those two.

"_Urk_ – Stan and Kyle got together??" Tweek breathed, awed. "They… Jesus, _finally_!"

Both Kenny and I did a double take at the jittery kid between us, shamelessly surprised. Tweek blushed brightly, whimpering at the attention. "I – I notice things, too, _ngh_, sometimes," he informed us defensively, pulling nervously on the hem of his sweater. "I don't hafta be friends, _ngh_, with them to see it—ACK!" He glanced up at me feverishly when I stood straight again from kissing the top of his golden crown.

Kenny let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh good. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone. But you guys already knew." He smiled, a bit sadly. "Anyway, I just saw you guys turning out on the same level," Kenny said softly. "After that stupid fight in third grade, I figured you two'd either conflict or turn out to be SBF's, ya know?"

"But – Stan and Kyle are practically, _hrk_, soulmates!" Tweek observed hesitantly, thin brow furrowed.

Kenny smirked.

'Soulmates?' Wait.

"You think Tweek and I…?" I began skeptically, only to get a short, confident nod from everyone's favorite horndog.

"WHAT?!" Tweek leapt almost a foot into the air, flamingo pink and tearing at his hair with his free hand. "Oh my god, that is so much pressure!" he wailed.

As Kenny laughed, I brought the paranoid boy's hand down, flipping Mr. Advice the bird. But I seriously considered the notion. If the bizarre rush of excitement at the very thought told me anything, I'd have to say it was definitely – maybe – possibly – a possibility.

-

When we arrived at Tweek's house, he told us to wait while he rushed inside for something. Kenny and I stood outside his front walk, me with my hands in my pockets and he playing with his hood strings. We remained in companionable silence until we heard Tweek shriek.

"GAH! I just need, _ngh_, two, dad!"

Exchanging glances, Kenny and I smirked. The front door burst open, Tweek looking haggard and mumbling something about metaphors. He thrust out two pieces of paper to us, head down as he shyly said, "Applications. _Hrgck_. Dad says you gotta fill them out to, _ngh_, to work at Harbucks."

Oh. I guess that only makes sense. We each took a sheet, Kenny pouting childishly. "Aw, does that mean I don't get paid for today?" he whined, poofing out his lips dramatically and wearing these surprisingly hypnotic puppy-dog eyes for the neurotic boy before him. I mechanically gave him the finger, slightly weary.

"Oh Jesus," Tweek breathed, his whole body spazzing. He glanced feverishly between the poor kid and me; I was eyeing Kenny darkly. Gripping inconsistently at the collar of his olive sweater, he stammered fearfully, "I-I could still pay you, Kenny! AUGH!" He seemed particularly nervous as he made this offer, as if he were afraid something would happen if he didn't. "I'll, _ngh_, be right back…" Before my scowl could reach my face, he was inside again.

"Uh…"

"That better have been a joke, McCormick," I informed him lowly, turning my narrowed, icy gaze to him. "How much you wanna bet he's getting his own money?" Dammit.

Kenny had entirely dropped the act, and was staring incredulously at the Tweaks' front door, disbelieving. "He – he thought I was serious?" he asked no one in particular, forehead creased in concern. "Better work on the teasing in moderation, eh?" He looked sheepishly back at me, grimacing.

"You're not going to take his money, _are_ you?" I demanded, clearly stating a threat with my tone.

"No, dude!" Kenny said, backing up a step as if disgusted at the accusation. "I may be poor, but I'm not a complete _asshole_!"

I smirked, relieved even though I never truly suspected he would. "Emphasis on 'complete,'" I murmured, flipping him off.

Rolling his bright blue eyes, he punched my shoulder. "Dick." He smiled.

Yeah. I could officially call Kenny a friend.

The door opened again, Tweek shutting it behind him and leaning against it, his eyelid twitching. "_Hngh, pressuuuuure_," he stained quietly, jerking forward and thrusting a fist out to Kenny, who put his arms up as if unwilling to touch the cash in Tweek's hand. "It's—GAH!—for… today?" he said unsurely, brow furrowed at the orange-clad teen's action.

"Dude, Tweek, I was – I was just kidding," Kenny explained, smiling sadly. "I covered you because I wanted to. You guys had a… thing." He splayed his fingers, palms flat. "I didn't do it cuz I expected to be paid." He chuckled to himself, playfully nudging the baffled boy's shoulder. "I don't take money from friends, anyway. It… it kills me to."

Well, way to get just a little personal. I cocked my head and watched the skinny blondes thoughtfully. When Tweek flushed at Kenny's words, I felt proud… of both of them.

"Sweet Jesus!" Tweek squealed, hesitantly bringing his arm back and fiddling with the edge of his jumper. "You consider me a, _hrk_, a… friend?" he wondered bashfully, looking up at the taller kid through his eyelashes.

My heart promptly melted. There he goes being adorable and… tragic again. Fuck. I wanted in on this. Socking Kenny roughly in the arm as he grinned and nodded, I ruffled Tweek's soft yellow hair. "Of course he does," I interjected for the boy, who laughed at my hit. "What else would he consider you?"

Oops. Can of worms. I only recognize I might've said something stupid when Tweek's expression fell along with his gaze. He shuffled uncomfortably in place, rubbing at his arm and shaking uncontrollably. It was Kenny's turn to shoot _me_ a dirty look when the coffee-fiend spoke next.

"I dunno… _ngh_. A stupid, twitchy, _ngh_, waste of space?" He should've sounded bitter, especially since what he said sounded vaguely familiar, but instead, he sounded like he believed it. I blanched, frowning.

Christ, I had ingrained it so harshly into him when I bullied him, he still thought about it. He still _believed_ it, even though I'd tried to show him I didn't believe it myself anymore. What could I do to stop him hating himself? Fuck, and I used to make him hurt on purpose. Now I just wished I could take all the stupid, cruel things I said to make him feel worthless and throw them in a bonfire. And then scatter the ashes. Like, across the fucking continent.

Shit.

"Now how could anyone who's ever actually met you think _that_?" Kenny scoffed, picking up on the angst and redirecting it with his unfathomable Kenny-ness. "We don't think you're a stupid waste of space." He told the smaller blonde. "Twitchy, yeah," he chuckled, "but not stupid, and not a waste of space."

Tweek looked carefully up at him, then at me. He leapt back, crying out in shock, his emerald eyes wide with panic. "AUGH! C-Craig!" he shouted, hands flying to his hair. "Are you okay??"

"Jesus, Craig. You look like you're…" _Like you're gonna cry,_ he didn't need to finish. The gangly mischief-maker frowned with genuine concern.

My breath came suddenly, staggered, and I clenched my fists. "Goddammit," I ground out, facing away from them and trying hard not to let tears fall again, not to be weak again in front of Tweek over something stupid. I wasn't a fucking kid anymore, and I wasn't a douchy attention whore, so I sucked up my regret and swallowed hard. "I just… I'm sorry." The words were soft, and I felt really low. "I can't believe I ever made you think that – _believe_ that…" I said it for Tweek, but mostly to myself.

"C-Craig," Tweek said. I felt a hand on my arm, and turned to see him gazing bravely up at me. I blinked. "It's okay. I, _ngh,_ shouldn't have said anything, really. Jesus, I've already—GAH!" I'd accidentally interrupted when I brought a hand to his face. "F-forgiven you…"

"Boy, do I feel like a third wheel," Kenny stated loudly, as means to get our attention. I flipped him the bird, still with the other hand on Tweek's soft, warm cheek. "Craig and I have some stuff to… discuss," Kenny said slyly, smirking deviously and folding his lanky arms.

"Do we," I retorted flatly, staring dully at him, a bit peeved he'd broken in so guiltlessly. "Like…?" I questioned, daring him to elaborate.

"Tweek, when did you last have coffee?" the orange-clad teen innocently asked the caffeine-addict.

"OH GOD! My coffee!" he shrieked. "I need to make more _coffee_," he strained, grimacing as if in pain. "C-Craig…!" he implored, torn.

"Dude. You don't need my _permission_ to get coffee," I told him, a little sting hitting my chest. "…Have a good night." Leaning down, I kissed his trembling lips again, pressing just a little harder and wondering if Kenny was enjoying himself despite his earlier protest. "Try to sleep, okay?" I pleaded quietly when we separated, adoring the blush on his pale skin.

After a stunned moment of dazedness, he nodded, biting his bottom lip and twitching violently, darting up his front steps. He squealed a shy goodbye as he opened his door, and smiled.

Neither of us could help but smile back.

-

"Think he'll actually get any sleep?"

I sighed, thrusting my hands in my pockets as we wandered the residential streets aimlessly. "He's slept the past few nights…" I mumbled in response, kicking at the snow lining the sidewalk.

"Yeah, yeah, but those were special cases," Kenny dismissed, waving a hand airily. "Do you really think he gets, like, _any_ sleep on a regular basis?" he went on skeptically.

I looked over at him, meeting his blue eyes dead-on. "How did you know about that?" I asked suspiciously, narrowing my gaze.

"Know about what?" he innocently replied, after a beat.

Didn't fool me for a second. "You're conspiring with Damien, _aren't_ you?" I challenged, wrinkling my nose and scowling.

"You got somethin' against the guy?"

I blinked. "Well… not really," I allowed, flipping him off.

"We're friends," Kenny confessed with a shrug. "He's a lot like you, actually. Anyway, he might've mentioned the dreams…"

Groaning, I bent down, scooped up some dirty-ish snow, and packed it together with expert speed; every kid in South Park honed their snow play skills, with the endless snow available, and I was best with snowballs. You'd think he'd remember the times my group and his had snow fights, when I would dominate the battlefield. But in the time it took for his dastardly mind to register what I was doing, I'd already plastered the side of his hood with damp snow.

Spluttering at the amount that got into his mouth (which was actually an accident), Kenny gaped dumbly at me in shock. I laughed – really _laughed_ – and it felt good.

"That's for invading our privacy," I told him through laughter, though in reality I didn't care enough to be angry or anything. But when was the last time I threw a _snowball_? Why the hell not?

"You don't sound all that offen—" he began, wiping at hid face, only to be thrown off-balance by another snowball. I was on a roll.

"So what was that you were saying about not taking money from friends? You mooch off of people all the time," I pointed out, admittedly like a dick.

"It's not the same as money," Kenny muttered uncertainly, sounding uncomfortable. "I hate taking people's money if I don't deserve it. If I work for it, fine." He swiped some snow out of his eyes, watching me, distrustful. "But I also hate it when people give me stuff, sometimes even food. That's when it feels like pity. I guess – mooching feels consensual, most of the time." He ducked under my next snowball, lithely jumping over a pile of snow passing as a miniature snowman, crouching to pack snow himself. I didn't let him get very far. "If I know it makes someone uncomfortable, I don't ask. I _wouldn't_. OW!"

"That one was for your underhanded trick to distract Tweek." I smirked as informed him of this, unwilling to let a depressing mood set in.

Swearing under his breath, the hooded kid bent down and started packing snow again. "How else was I supposed to pull you two apart? You would've stood there all night making moony eyes at each other!"

Dodging a particularly weak shot of his, I pelted another and got him square in the back. "We don't have 'stuff' to 'discuss,' do we?" I asked, not questioning in the least.

"CROTCH SHOT!"

"What—AH!" I nearly leapt out of my pants as Kenny nailed me right in the balls – and _hard_. Sucking in a breath, I clenched my teeth and urged myself to spare my dignity by not groping to check that they were intact. Kenny had already doubled over laughing, gripping at his stomach, probably at my expression. "That…" I managed tightly, "was dirty."

"Nah," he said through gasps for air, "no discussions. Well, not exactly." He sobered quickly, and became frighteningly serious. "I was hoping you'd tell me what went down earlier. You know – before I showed up? Well, and the part where I took over Harbucks for like, an hour."

I already had another snowball ready, to dish out some karma-slash-revenge, but he caught me off-guard and I dropped it to the concrete, blinking. I should've guessed. Did I even want to tell him, though? Did I want him to _know_?

Okay, yeah. I kind-of did.

"Don't tell Clyde you heard first. He'd flip shit…"

-

It was around eleven that Kenny and I stopped avoiding my block. He now knew just about everything I knew about my dad, especially what I thought of him. He knew about the shift when I came back from Peru – how he went from secretly loathing me to openly hating me at home. He always managed to restrain himself from public outbursts, but when I was ten, it wasn't just unerring, hateful glares or the occasional name anymore. No, I told Kenny all about the way disappearing to South America, even against my own will, finally made him snap. I don't even know what it was that "snapped," but whatever it was made home one of my least favorite places. Kenny said he felt "extra guilty" now, for being part of cheating me into saving the world, but I told him not to worry about it. I was getting tired of making people feel bad about shit.

"Y'know, Craig – it kinda sounds like something's wrong with your dad," the hooded kid reported, screwing up his face.

Narrowing my gaze, I stared at him skeptically. "No, really?" I asked with painfully obvious sarcasm.

"No, dude – like, there's something really _wrong_ with your dad," he reiterated, and this time I caught an edge of fear in his voice; this startled me, and I frowned. "I mean, I ain't exactly an expert on mental shit, but he seriously sounds like he's got a brain… thing." He grimaced at himself, probably for his choice of words. I raised an eyebrow, silently noting Clyde's new competition for his crown, but I kind-of knew what he was saying.

We'd slowed our trek toward my house, about two doors down, and I noticed my dad's sedan parked in our driveway. Did dad have a mental thing? That… I guess that makes sense. Though honestly, it was easier to hate him if he didn't have some sort of excuse. What could he even have? I wasn't any expert either, but I'm pretty sure "violent temper" wasn't listed anywhere as a mental illness.

"Maybe," I mumbled agreeably, still wracking my brain for possible diseases. "I don't really wanna go in there," I stated lowly as my house came up, "He's still here."

"Well, your mom _did_ tell him to leave, right? Maybe he's packing," Kenny guessed, eyeing me sideways, blue orbs cautious.

"I wish he'd packed earlier. I really don't…" I almost repeated myself, but the sentence caught in my airway when the front door swung open, my father hunched over in the frame.

He hefted his suitcases up, huffing down the front steps with the overloaded things in his arms. Kenny and I froze mid-step, just watching him as he threw the bags into the trunk of his car. My chest felt heavy with a mixture of hate, rage, bitterness, relief, and… pity. Yeah, he'd abused me in hundreds of ways for years, and even hit mom a few hours ago, but he had such a… _dejected_ look on his pudgy face, he actually managed to stir up some sympathy from the depths of my gut.

Not fair.

I thought we were far enough away to be out of his line of sight, but on his way back into the house, he spotted us. Under his muddy brown gaze, even from fifty feet away, I wanted to run. I so badly wanted to turn tail and bolt, even though I didn't have a clue as to where the hell I'd go. Maybe Kenny would let me crash at his place. If not, Clyde wasn't exactly unused to me showing up late at night in need of somewhere to sleep – I'd done it once this week already, after all. I was still evaluating my options when he turned to face us and puffed out his chest, frowning.

Kenny gave my shoulder a miniscule shove to get my attention. "Dude. Talk to him."

"He _hit_. My _mom_," I reminded the interference-prone kid through my teeth.

"On accident," he replied. "He was goin' for _you_, wasn't he?"

"Not helping your case, dude."

"He's still your dad."

"Craig?" came my father's husky voice, making me start.

"What?" I called back tightly, stiffening automatically.

"…I'd like to talk to you, boy."

"Can hear you fine from hear, _dad_," I told him, irate, emphasizing my distaste for the last word. My hands balled into fists at my sides.

"Please, son," he said softer, as if his voice could no longer handle its previous volume. Wouldn't that be a nice change?

I actually thought about it. I actually let myself debate on giving my father a chance to try to explain himself – if that was even what he wanted to do. Well, he could try making some sort of argument, or a pity-party where he tried to make me see his side, but I told myself to walk away if he tried either.

So apparently I've decided. Fuck.

Kenny _tsk_ed impatiently and pushed at my shoulder again. I blinked. "Be the better man – give him a chance."

"He doesn't deserve one," I told him, realizing it was pretty true.

Rolling his eyes, he pursed his lips. "Exactly, dude."

Glancing between the blonde and my fat excuse of a father, I steeled myself uncertainly. Would I be opening yet another can of worms even just walking over there? There was no way to predict what he'd say, let alone if I'd want to deck him straightaway or not, but he'd also already seen me, was blocking the entrance to home, and—oh fuck it.

"_Better man?_" I echoed skeptically to myself, stalking haughtily forward, disbelieving of my decision. He watched me approach, and I glanced over my shoulder at Kenny, silently begging him not to leave, just in case… well, I don't know why, but I didn't really want to be alone. The guy seemed to understand, shoving his hands into his threadbare pockets and giving me an almost imperceptible nod. I stopped short of the first step, my heart pounding loudly in my ears, my breath leaving small, hot clouds in the freezing night air. Fuck, it was cold – and I'd only just noticed.

"Who's the kid?" he asked gruffly.

"What do you want," I demanded uncomfortably, crossing my arms.

"I'm sorry."

I stared blankly at him. I was beyond mistrust and cynicism, staring flatly back at his worn, aging expression. "I'm sorry?"

"I know it's too late—"

"Over seven _years_ too late," I cut in tensely, snarling.

"But I am." He clenched and unclenched his fists, licking his lips. "I shouldn't, but I hate you."

"…Okaaay," I said slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Are you actually going somewhere with this?" I challenged bitterly.

"Let me finish, boy," he said tightly, clearly attempting to contain his temper. "…Ever since you came out of the womb, I've hated you. I don't know why, I don't see how, but I instantly wished you didn't exist. I knew whenever you got sick, I wouldn't care if you died. I knew whenever you got in a fight, I wouldn't care if you came out a bloody mess. I knew whenever you went out with some dumb whore, I wouldn't care if she broke your heart and left you scarred. I knew I would never love you."

Oh. Okay, throw it at me all at once, why don't you. Thanks.

"But your mother… your mother thought you were better than sunlight. Hell, she thought you were better than _air_. She loves you more than fucking _anything_. More than your sister. More than _me_. Maybe that's why I hate you – I saw her eyes light up when she first saw you, and knew you'd replaced me as number one. The woman who was _my_ number one – the woman I would die for – loved this ugly little brat more than she loved me." He scowled deeply, remembering things, maybe, and searched my unsure frown. "I'm famous for my temper, boy. Always have been. I was always quick to strike when angry. I never hit your mother, though. Not once. I never wanted to. I don't hit the people I love. I could never hit your mother."

"But you did," I pointed out coldly, stiffening again and digging my nails into my palms.

"I didn't mean to!" he hastily protested, desperate. His brown eyes were painfully remorseful, and he looked now like he would cry. "I wish I could take it back…"

Who was this man? I'd never known my father to feel _regret_.

"She protected you. I knew it would happen one day. I knew I should've controlled my hate sooner. She loves you so fucking _much_, Craig… I once thought that by treating you the way I did, that perhaps I was hurting her, too, but… I'm so _angry_ around you! I hate you _so much_," he hissed, gripping tightly at what was left of his hair in aggravation.

"What about Ruby?" I dared to blurt, unthinking.

"Ruby… I do love Ruby. I struck her once, two years ago, when she reminded me of you – and I lost it… I regret it. I still yell at her, but not in the same way I want to yell at you." He chuckled darkly to himself. "You'll notice, boy, how much I do _not_ hate your little sister. No, it makes no sense. But this is all the explanation I have for you."

"Right," I muttered numbly, still processing the news.

"Mostly I'm sorry for what I've done to your mother," he said as he straightened out his jacket, avoiding my eyes. "Well, for the way I've affected her. I love your mother – more than you can understand. I truly would give my life for her. So if she wants me… if she wants me to leave…" He sighed, scowling and pushing past me toward his car. "Then I'll leave for a while."

Wow. 'A while.' How noble. My thought caught up with me just in time to stop him before he could get in the driver's seat.

"Hey," I called out, turning. He paused, stiffly meeting my gaze. "Do you actually have a problem with homosexuality, though? You went through the roof, after all…"

The overweight ginger scowled again. "I knew it," he mumbled. "Well, that shit ain't natural. But… it was an excuse. I guess I'm sorry for that, too." Before I could verify what exactly he was sorry for, he got in his car and started it up. I had to scramble to the passenger side and knock on the window before I forgot what else I wanted to say to him. To my surprise, he actually rolled the window down. "What now, boy?" he growled, sounding more tired than mad.

"I knew you hated me," I stated quietly. "For the record… I only ever wished I was wrong."

We stared at each other again, for what could've been hours; sizing each other up, weighing pros and cons, debating on what else could be said. The silence had to be interrupted eventually by my mobile vibrating and beeping in my pocket. I ignored it, but the spell was broken.

"Where are you going?" I asked, even though I didn't really want to know.

"Denver. For a while. You don't owe me anything, boy, but," he began. He paused. "Please tell your mother and sister I love them."

I didn't expect an answer, let alone the request, but nodded once and backed up. His car took off, like he couldn't wait to be gone. I stood dumbly on the curb, watching the exhaust dissipate as a huge source of pain in my life drove away into the cold night.

"Bye, dad," I murmured to the fading brake lights. In my peripherals, Kenny smiled sadly.

-

"Oh, hello," my exhausted mother cheerfully greeted, when I brought Kenny inside. She gave him a quick smile, and they introduced themselves without a word from me. She asked if he was staying, and then immediately insisted he did. Her face was stained with tears, but she would accept no concerned attention, she said. "No, tonight I think I need to myself." It didn't stop me from hugging her for almost a full minute.

"Dad loves you," I whispered into her ear, giving her a final squeeze and letting her alone like she seemed to want.

"Nice room," Kenny stated admiringly, throwing himself onto my bed. "If I promise not to molest you, can I sleep on your bed?" he asked with a beseeching grin. "Pleeease?"

Smirking, I threw a towel at his head. "Only if you shower first, poor boy."

Punching the air with an exclamation of joy and thanking me, he darted past me for the bathroom, singing to himself. Chuckling, I hoped to god Ruby was somewhere else tonight, because not only would I have to explain dad's absence, but I'd have to explain Kenny's presence. I didn't want to think of the scene, especially since Kenny was just her type. He was everyone's type.

Well, with the exception of Tweek and I, apparently.

I chuckled again, slightly dazed for the day's events. My phone vibrated again, and I finally pulled it out of my pocket. There were two texts from Tweek.

From **TWEEK**, 11:14pm

hewy, i hopde u can gget texts!

From **TWEEK**, 11:23pm

wonderiing if ur ok. hope u gget home safefly

Smiling to myself at his typos, I sent a short reply and stripped to my boxers, too worn out to wait for a shower.

To **TWEEK**, 11:25pm

i'm fine, tweek. thnx fr checking in. plz sleep 2nite

I'd almost drifted, the sounds of Kenny singing in the shower lulling me, when my cell buzzed again, and I was all too eager to check the response.

From **TWEEK**, 11:47pm

i*ll tury. thnk u. imm glad ur ok. good nite!

To **TWEEK**, 11:48pm

see u tmrrw?

From **TWEEK**, 11:50pm

ok craig. sleeep well!

I sent one more text, and went to sleep with a satisfied smile on my face.

* * *

**A/N II**: And for once, I can honestly say I like this chapter. =]

Oh dear, another forever-later update. D= But I love you guys, I swear! It's so amazing to have this many people read and even enjoy this fic. X3 I really appreciate it, even though my slow updates may not show it. o3o Thanks, everybody~!


	17. 3:30 am

**A/N**: Okay, so first off, I apologize once again for my dirty/dick-ish April Fool's prank on dA. XD I love you guys. Y'all rock my fucking world. Thanks to everyone who's put up with my bullshit this whole time, even before I pulled a trick like that. =o

I bet no one at all suspected what happens in the first part here. Not a soul. Nope, not one. =3

Note: Cyanide doesn't give you seizures, it basically suffocates you and essentially stops your heart. =]

Actually Important Note: I had to change the texts from the end of last chapter, because they felt ridiculously out-of-character, and I only realized in the day after I posted it, but was too busy to fix it until a few days ago. O3o It's a good idea to check those again if you read it before 4/1-ish. ^_^' LOVE YOU GUYS!

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

_Tweek's P.O.V._

3:30 a.m.

I stayed awake all night, distraught over my texts and what would happen in the morning, if Craig was really okay, and whether or not I should ask Butters for advice. But if I did, than I'd probably wake him up, and I've learned from experience that most people are really cranky if you wake them up in the wee hours. Especially if you interrupt a good dream. Part of me wished the friendly kid such nice dreams, but the other part was unreasonably jealous – god knows _I_ don't really get good dreams, when I manage to sleep at all.

I was sitting at my small desk, trying to win a game of solitaire to sooth my nerves, even though the pressure was mounting. The cards were old, a green Bicycle deck I'd won at some St. Patrick's Day event years ago, and they were bent and a little grungy – but they were the only thing I'd won. _Ever_. You could almost call them sentimental or sacred to me. That day, I held some actual pride for myself, thinking maybe my distant Irish roots really _were_ a little lucky. It was just some prize drawing, and I didn't know anyone there, but it had felt like maybe I could prove everyone wrong for the uselessness I was so used to having pushed on me.

As I found my game at a standstill, when I was just about to shuffle and re-play, my crappy phone vibrated on the coffee-ring stained table near my bed. This caused me to shriek and accidentally send the cards in my hands into the air as I jerked upright. Effectively startled, I clutched at my heart and tried to steady my breath as I stood unevenly, moving to pick the cell up. Flipping it open, I discovered an undiscovered text.

From CRAIG 11:52pm

wanna do a movie soon? on me

"Oh Jesus!" I whimpered to myself, tossing the phone onto the bed like it was too hot to hold. "Stupid phone—AUGH! It's almost three a.m.! Why couldn't you, _ngh_, have buzzed _sooner?? Ngh_, what'll I do??" I fretted to my silent room. Didn't he send that hours ago?? What if my phone completely stopped working, and he sent me text saying he was trapped in his basement, but I couldn't get there on time to get him out?? Oh man, Craig was wasting away in his cellar because my cell phone is so stupid and cheap! Augh! But… He was thinking about me. Was he thinking about me a lot? No, how is that possible – who wants me on their mind so late at night? This was so surreal, being asked out on a date with Craig, and I had no idea what to do. If I responded, he'd know I wasn't sleeping, but if I didn't, I'd worry about it all night! Oh god – I already was!

"This is _way_ too much _pressure!_" I strained through clenched teeth, gripping my hair habitually and tugging hard. Before I could make up my panicked mind, another text came, and I yelped instead.

From CRAIG 11:53pm

I hope you actually sleep 2nite. ha, i'll stop txtn so u can. see u

I was instantly overcome with warm happiness, and couldn't withhold the small smile on my lips even though there was no one to see it. He asked me on a date, and then apologized for keeping me up – it was so awkward you'd think it was me to do it, and my hopeless romantic side was simply overjoyed. These were new feelings for me, though, and I was of course a little scared, but I held the mobile to my chest, silently elated. If I hadn't been so nervous, I would've answered back as fast as my trembling fingers would let me. Then again, he was probably sleeping… Still, my internal panic was quelled by his concern, as unusual as the possibility was, and I was able to swallow the anxiety that this caused.

Slipping my phone into my pocket, I was suddenly saddened I couldn't oblige his hopes. Automatically I was breathing too quickly as worries of passing out on the bus or not being alert enough to avoid getting kidnapped on the way to my bus stop plagued my consciousness. Whimpering at the scene conjuring up in my head, I gripped erratically at my hair and stared dumbly at the scattered cards on the carpet. Grateful for something to busy myself, I began a game of 52-card pick-up. Several cards escaped me more than once, but for all my twitching and spasms, it didn't take as long as I thought it would. Once I had them all, I sat on my stool and shuffled again, playing Accordion and letting my mind wander to films.

Craig wanted to go see a movie, but I didn't even know what was playing, so how could answer him?? If he wanted to see a horror movie, what would I do? I mean, I'd never turn one down if it was what he wanted to see, but scary movies push the limit of my entertainment excitement levels. It wasn't because I still couldn't differentiate between Hollywood special effects and reality – it was that no matter how many times I tell my mind something isn't real, it betrays me and creates nightmares and paranoia worse than my typical cases. Mot to mention we'd probably get kicked out of the theater due to my terrified screams, and then Craig would hate me for ruining his movie! Oh man, what if he cancelled our date when he realized this extremely likely outcome?

I had become so engrossed in my card game and dismal thoughts, I hadn't paid any attention to the clock. Before I knew it, it was 3:30. As I dealt myself what could easily have been my twentieth game, a small scratching came at my door. When I had my first hand laid out, my ears picked up on a few high-pitched voices in the all, and I instinctually held my breath in anticipatory fear.

The gnomes.

Launching myself out of my seat and away from my desk, I accidentally sent my cards flying again. But how could I care about that when the underpants gnomes were at my door?? I scrambled across my bed and huddled on the opposite side, crouching low to hide as much as I could. I remembered where I'd stashed a can of crappy instant coffee (for emergencies), and swiftly pulled it out from under my bed. Positioning it over my head, prepared to use it as a bludgeon if necessary, I bit my lip o keep from shrieking as my bedroom door swung open.

Six tiny, pointy-capped, bearded men swayed atop one another, standing on each other's shoulders to make a gnome tower high enough to reach my doorknob. The one at the top held a bent hairpin – I'd had the door locked for this very reason, but they must've picked it, inciting more panic in me.

They were getting _smarter_.

The Leaning Tower of Underpants Thieves tilted precariously, and I could hear them saying, "whoa!" and, "be careful, Yako!" Their voices were in the same squeaky falsetto Craig and Clyde had been in when they breathed helium out of a balloon at Shakey's in eighth grade. So far they hadn't noticed me, falling over clumsily, rolling their small bodies across the carpet and complaining to each other. I took this chance to crawl quickly to my closet, where I could watch them steal my underpants but still be fast enough to escape if they became homicidal. OH GOD! What if they ganged up on me before I could get away, and strangled me with my own boxer shorts??

"Hey, kid's not here!" one with a blue hat commented, brushing himself off and surveying my room. I shrunk further into the shadows of my closet, pressing back old fears of the Boogeyman in favor of more current issues. My breath hitched in my throat.

"Maybe he's at a friend's house."

"This kid doesn't _have_ any friends, remember, Dato?" the fattest one remarked snidely, heading for my dresser.

"Plus, his phone is still here. Don't kids these days take them everywhere?"

My hand flew to my pocket to check for my mobile, and I had to swallow panic as I realized it must have fallen out when I flew over my mattress. Biting back an alarmed shout, I glanced up to see a blonde gnome with a pipe standing over my phone where it lay on my bed. I also had to concentrate on not freaking out about how he got up there in the first place without me noticing. He grunted with the effort of flipping it open while the others hauled open my bottom drawer. My panic flared as the gnome read Craig's text, his lips curling in a knowing smile – Jesus, even the _gnomes_ mock me and my pathetic crush!

"_Ngh_," I whimpered pathetically, shivering potently. Too late did I remember they had impressive hearing, and I nearly choked as the gnome on my bed looked over at me, cocking his little head.

He was looking right at me.

My body seized, and I clutched the tin of coffee closer to me, absolutely terrified out of my mind. The gnome darted forward, making me yelp. He heaved my closet door open after leaping off my mattress expertly, putting his tiny hands on his hips as he defiantly met his gaze with bright green eyes.

"Hey, kid," he greeted with a grin.

I couldn't bring myself to squish him. For some reason, when his tiny gnome form stood confident before me, I no longer had the will to knock him over the head with coffee powder. My hands went slack and I dropped the canister, bringing my grip instead to my chaotic mane. "_Hrgck_," I garbled, gawking at the little man.

"Got two pair!" one of the gnome's comrades called, followed by a triumphant chorus of cheers.

"ACK!"

"Oh, he is here!" said the one in the blue cap, coming around the corner of my bed frame.

"OH JESUS!" I wailed as they all came over two pairs of my underpants between them. "Don't strangle me!"

"Jeez, kid, we're not gonna _hurt_ ya!" the bold gnome before me said, turning briefly to face the others. "Go on, get gone! You're _scarin'_ the poor kid!" he instructed firmly, waving his arms for emphasis. They eyed me uncertainly as they retreated with my underpants in tow, the fat one giving me a glare and using his fingers in the _I'm watching you_ gesture. "I'll catch up," he told them as I whined anxiously.

"W-why are you here??" I quickly enquired once the room was nearly gnome-free. "How come, _ngh_, you aren't killing me??" I went on suspiciously. "You have my, _urk_, underpants, what more do you want?!" I begged, curling my toes and hugging my knees to my chest. "G—GAH!—go away!"

"My name is Dato," the gnome offered, holding out his hand.

Eyelid twitching, I gaped dumbly at the blonde gnome's microscopic fingers, stuck between horrified curiosity and grudging distrust. He was… _introducing_ himself?? Why?? Was he planning something, or was he just being friendly? Were gnomes supposed to be friendly? What if he had a poisoned needle on his palm, and I had a seizure from the cyanide? Does cyanide give you seizures? Oh god, I don't _wanna_ be an epileptic!

"_Zzzzzzzeeeeeeeeeeeeeergh_," I strained, the decision hurting my brain. "This is _way_ too much _pressure!_"

"So I see you're in love."

"WHAT?!" I blurted extra loudly, completely thrown. Afraid I'd woken my parents, I clapped my hands over my lips in a delayed reaction. "_What??_" I hissed when I didn't hear footsteps.

"We gnomes are very perceptive people," he proudly stated, grinning. "I was just thinking, maybe you need someone to talk to. I mean, it's the least I can do with all the underwear you've been provided over the years."

"Ahh! Why didn't you leave me alone, _ngh_, after that time in third, _ngh_, third grade??" I squealed, taking the defensive in a sudden bout of bravery, for fear of trusting the little man in the red cap. "Why are you still TORMENTING me?!"

"We only come for the underpants," he told me, tilting his head. "_You're_ the only one doing any tormenting."

OH GOD, he was so right! "_Hnnnngh_," I strained, gripping my hair even tighter. "Can't you, _ngh_, take someone else's underpants?? It's so much _pressure_ to tell my mom I, _ngh_, need more!"

"We _do_ take other people's underpants." Narrowing his almost glowing gaze, he folded his arms. "You're avoiding the subject, kid," he said flatly, unimpressed.

"Sweet Jesus!"

"Tell me about this 'Craig,'" the gnome insisted in a mock-psychiatrist tone, plunking himself down as if he didn't plan on going anywhere.

Again I stared at him, quivering with anticipation. Should I trust him? Why does he care? Was he trying to psychoanalyze me to find the best way to torture me to death?? Oh my god! He's with the FBI! Leave it to _them_ to hire _underpants gnomes!_

Glaring a glare as intimidating as possible, I bit my lip before saying, "I know what you're up to!" Picking up the coffee tin, I held it above my head as my heart rate skyrocketed. "You can't have my memories, government—GAH!—scum!" I announced.

The gnome blinked and raised his bushy eyebrows. "'Government?' What the hell are you talkin' about, kid?" I swung the canister down wildly, making him yelp and leap to his feet. "Hey! Watch it!" He dodged my next mindless attempt to goosh him, frowning indignantly. "Christ, kid, I was only tryin' to help!"

"_Ngh_, yeah right!" I replied distrustfully, crawling out of my closet and nudging him with my foot toward the door. "How can I, _ngh_, believe you when all you've done, _hrk_, is _torture_ me for years?!" I demanded as defiantly as I was capable. Secretly I was terrified he'd grab my foot, trip me, call his friends back, and they'd all swarm me and tie me to my bed frame with the sheets. Then they'd take the rest of my underwear _and_ my coffee tin! Oh Jesus, I need that coffee for emergencies!

"Oh, _that's_ ironic!" he scoffed, diving under my bed. Afraid he'd stab my toes with his pointy hat, I leapt onto my mattress with a gargled whimper, leaning precariously out to peek over the edge and watch for him. "I know all about how 'Craig' used to bully you!" his high-pitched voice announced triumphantly from beneath me.

Somehow I froze, absolutely stunned. "Wh-what??" I uttered. "How could you know, _ngh_, something like that??" I questioned desperately as a hot blush burned in my cheeks. "Oh man – are you guys, _hngh_, STALKING me?!" I shrieked in uneasy dismay, suddenly nauseous. "Oh my god, _ngh_, all this time I've been worried about the KGB and the, _ngh_, the FBI stalking me when it should've been _you_ I—AUGH!" Interrupting my own rant, jumped in alarm as something latched onto the flannel back of my pyjama shirt. "OH GOD, GET IT OFF!" I screamed, flailing about to reach my back and accidentally throwing my makeshift weapon on the floor.

"Jesus," grumbled the gnome as it climbed onto my shoulder, holding my hair for support, "Would you _relax?_ We never stalked you!"

I made to grab him, leaning away ineffectually out of nervousness, but he bared his tiny teeth and I yelped, pulling back. "Like I said: You're not the only person we get underpants from. Usually we're pretty undetectable, so people don't notice us the way you do, when we come in to get what we need. We've been to 'Craig's' house before, and not at three-thirty."

My muscles still vibrated, but I'd gone rigid, balling my hands into distressed fists. I had my eyes shut tightly and my teeth clamped into my bottom lip, turning my face away and stretching my neck as far to the side as it could go as I willed the gnome to leave. I wanted to throw him off of me, scream, put my hands over my ears and deny him my attention. He was an underpants gnome! They couldn't be trusted, even if I _did_ find myself a little eager for his explanation.

"We've also been to his friends' houses, even when he was there, and we hear _everything_ – and I mean _everything_. Not to mention you sorta talk in your sleep—well. When you actually _sleep_," he went on matter-of-factly. I whined in pathetic embarrassment. I talked in my _sleep??_ Oh Jesus! What did I say?? "His name's come up a few times," the gnome added, as if reading my thoughts. OH GOD! "I knew a long time ago you had it bad for the kid, kid. Actually, I wanted to congratulate you!"

"Oh man, this isn't, _ngh_, happening!" I protested uselessly, tugging on my chaotic hair. "A _gnome_ knows I'm in love! AUGH!" I gasped, my eyelid twitching as I clenched my jaw. "I'm in love!" I wailed.

"But you already knew that," the gnome offered bemusedly, patting my head sympathetically. "You just didn't know it yet."

Shaking my head with a whimper, I felt treacherous tears sting my eyes. "I know," I whispered. "_Hrgck_," I choked, trying my hardest not to burst into pitiful sobs. "I know…!"

"Oh – don't cry!" the gnome hastily said, shifting on my shoulder to tuck some hair behind my ear as I wiped weakly at my face. "Oh cripes. I hate to see children cry!" he proclaimed, sniffling as I took a staggered breath. "Whenever children cry, I… I…!" He hiccupped, moaning sadly as Clyde used to before he became hormonal and blowing his nose on something, startling me. "I cry, too!" he wailed, already bawling.

This made me stifle several sobs as senseless giggles infected my diaphragm. I was laughing through my tears, completely confused and relieved and scared. Usually I could force back tears, and I almost _never_ laugh – both at once was simply overwhelming. The gnome on my shoulder blew his nose again into what I could see was a tiny handkerchief, giggling a little, too, as if it were contagious.

"My, _hrk_, name is Tweek," I finally allowed, smiling through my sobs the tiniest bit and offering him my index finger.

"I know, kid… I know," he said, smiling in return and taking the tip, shaking. "Dato."

"I know," I echoed. He laughed, sniffling again. "I'm, _ngh_, sorry I tried to squish you—ACK!" I apologized sheepishly.

"'Sokay. You're not the first."

I had to swallow the lump in my throat telling me not to trust this miniature person, every instinct screaming at me to knock him away like some enormous creepy insect. But I steeled myself, fighting against my paranoia – if I could fall in love with my former tormentor, why not give an underpants gnome a second chance? Didn't he deserve one, too?

"Want some, _ngh_, coffee?" I offered awkwardly, twitching.

"Want to talk about Craig?" he countered, grinning beseechingly.

"Um, _hngh_, not _really_…" I avoided his hopeful gaze.

"Coffee sounds good, kid."

-

Upon going for coffee, I had seen my parents sound asleep with their bedroom door ajar, earplugs in their ears. Well, that had explained why my occasion cry hadn't woken them. Still, a small twinge of sadness got in my gut, but I had ignored it and pressed on downstairs for more coffee, to share with the gnome on my shoulder.

Dato the friendly underpants gnome left just before five, telling me to just be myself. I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, since I didn't know what else I possibly _could_ be.

Creeping downstairs as soundlessly as I could (out of habit) and heading to make some fresh, much-needed coffee, I noticed the wind raging outside was graced with heavy snowfall. It was close to becoming an outright storm, and I shivered violently as images of freezing to death or being swept away in an icy breeze cropped up in my conscience. Forcing myself to keep going, the wonderful result of liquid heaven as my incentive, I started another pot. Glad to have washed my thermoses last night, I set them up in a row on the counter for later as I waited impatiently for the coffee to brew.

Moving to the living room with my massive mug of South American blend, I flipped on the TV with a spasm and searched for my book. Typically I did this every morning – read with the TV on some safe channel like ABC, and sip on my coffee. It was one of the only relaxed times in my day, when my trembling was to a minimum, when my thoughts didn't rampage, and when no one was around to startle or intimidate me. I never really paid attention to what was on the screen, just had it on for the background noise and motion. That seems extremely contradictory to absolutely every part of my personality… but even spastic weirdoes get lonely sometimes. The TV wasn't a friend, but it wasn't an enemy, either, and even I got sick of what little quiet safety my bedroom offered.

My book was a memoir, one of many by a gay man in Manhattan. He was funny in a dry, cynical sort of way, and when I first read him, it struck me as _far_ too much pressure that I somehow really liked his sense of humour. This memoir was about his alcoholism and sobriety, and I had started it over the weekend, gotten halfway through by Monday, and hadn't the chance to read since then. For a short moment, I cursed my sleep for interrupting the only reading time I had. Then I remembered I had gotten Craig time instead, and the feeling passed, leaving me embarrassed with myself. Just as I ended a particularly crushing chapter, the TV flickered and the lamp at my side buzzed slightly as the bulb pulsed.

The power went out.

I screamed.

The Moonlight Sonata went off in my pocket, making me almost leap off the sofa, sending my book flying. At least my coffee was safely on the short table in front of me. Scrambling through my pockets and wondering when I even picked it up, I fumbled with it in my hands before clumsily flipping it open. "H—AUGH!" I blurted anxiously, unable to even greet my caller as my terminally wary gaze looked outside.

I could see nothing but white. It was a blizzard out there.

"Tweek? Hey, are you okay, dude?" came Craig's low, urgent voice.

"C-Craig??" I whined. "It's really bad outside, and the power, _ngh_, went out, and I'm scared!" I rambled obnoxiously, my fears flying unconsciously out of my mouth as I fidgeted in place and wrenched at my hair. "OH GOD! Are you out there?!" I panicked, suddenly on my feet in alarm. Racing to the front window, I threw myself against the cold glass, trying to see something – _anything_ – in the blustery white, as of he were right outside my house.

"No, I'm still at home. Calm down, okay?" he assured me. My pulse dropped slowly, the ache in my chest subsiding in the stead of relief. "Are you still at home, too?"

"_Ngh_, yeah…" I answered breathlessly, backing away from the window and blushing at my overreaction. Thank sweet Jesus Craig didn't see that! "How are we gonna get to, _ngh_, get to school in this??" I whimpered. "Do we even _have_ school?? GAH!"

"'M pretty sure we do." There was a familiar voice in the background: His mother. "What?" he said, but probably to her, so I bit my lip. He paused, and their short conversation was even more inaudible. The suspense was killing me! "—tell him," came his voice once more, making me yelp. "Mom wants to drive us to school. You want a ride, Tweekers?"

"GAH! W-what??"

"My mom is offering to pick you up on our way to school."

"Oh Jesus! That's so much _pressure!_"

"Put it on speakerphone," a distant voice said eagerly to Craig. I heard a small click, and almost thought we'd disconnected when an all-too-familiar mischief maker's cheery voice greeted, "Mornin', Tweeky!"

"ACK!" I shrieked. "Kenny? What're you doing at Craig's house??" I wondered nervously as my mind came up with various kidnapping situations.

"Don't take it the wrong way, but Craig and I slept together," Kenny informed me bemusedly, a smirk in his tone.

"OH _JESUS_, WHAT?!"

"Goddammit, Kenny—don't freak him out like that, asshole!" Craig growled as the blonde chuckled. The low voice of my gorgeous raven grumbled something dark and unintelligible, and Kenny yelped briefly. The mischievous blonde laughed after I heard something fall over. "Ignore him," Craig told me as I whimpered anxiously, "He stayed the night. Nothing happened."

"Yeah, Craig's too obsessed for my natural charm to work on him," Kenny offered on the side. "Ha, ha—ow," he said. I was pretty sure Craig socked him one, my eyelid twitching as I thought fretfully about what the beautiful ebony-haired boy could be obsessed with. "But seriously, Tweek. We didn't fuck."

"AUGH! Oh god!"

"Fucking hell, Kenny!"

"_Hngh_, I get it!" I wailed, waving my arm around dramatically even though I was alone. "Um," I stumbled.

"So you want a ride?" Craig asked again calmly after clearing his throat.

"Say yes!" Kenny yell-whispered somewhere near him. "Ow."

"Yes please, _ngh_, Craig!" I spouted apprehensively, a thrill running up my spine. "When will—GAH!—you be here??" I questioned, glancing around uncertainly for my bag.

"Give us ten minutes, with this shitty weather an' stuff. I'll call you again when we get there, yeah?" Craig said smoothly in his regular, flat tone.

Sick warmth rose in my chest, and I was blushing again. "O-okay, C-Craig," I stuttered stupidly.

"Be ready," he said gently. There was a pause, and my pulse sped threefold. "Don't go outside until we get there. Have some coffee. Stay inside where it's safe and warm, Tweek." He added tensely, as if stiff, "I don't want you disappearing in this blizzard."

The worry in his voice made me sad and happy at the same time. He was trying to keep me safe even when he wasn't around. I wanted to punch myself when I inadvertently blurted, "Ahh! I don't _wanna_ vanish forever!"

"Ten minutes," Craig repeated lowly, and the telltale click and dial tone told me he had hung up.

Jerking my phone shut in a spasm, I whimpered, trying and failing to catch the device as it flew from my grasp. Chasing after it, I went over his words in my head, the tone of his mesmerizing voice. _Hey, are you okay, dude? Stay inside where it's safe and warm, Tweek._ My hectic brain sucked in the undertones, the overtones, reveled in the words as my heart swelled. With the mobile in my hand again, I gasped at the tingling on my lips – thinking about his concern again made the memory of my heroic Craig buzz throughout me. At last I had been held in his powerful arms, and I shivered in perverse, delighted anticipation. Would he hold me that way again? Did he _want_ to hold me that way again?? Well, he _did_ tell me I was… going to be his… king?

How did I even _remember_ that?! The very thought was mortifying. What did it _mean?_

After pacing around in jittery awkwardness for five minutes, I finally pulled myself together and remembered that I normally would've done a lot earlier. Most of my clothes were similar, so anyone who actually cared to look would notice it seemed as though I wore the same thing every day. I was okay with this mostly because it meant there was virtually no pressure about getting dressed in the morning. Occasionally, I've had the strange, fleeting though that maybe a few new, different clothes would be a good idea, but I've never reacted on the notion. Picking out new clothes is so much _pressure!_ No one knows this, of course, but I really do care about how I look. Specifically, how I look to Craig.

Jesus _Christ_, I'm so girly! Aren't only women supposed to fret over their appearance?? Well, girls and gay guys? AUGH!

Oh yeah.

The piano piece sang again from my pocket, and I choked out a grunt-squeal in surprise, smacking myself down to locate the cell. Pulling it out and flipping it open, I answered timidly, "Yes?"

"We're outside your house," Craig said quietly. "I think," he added skeptically. "'S hard to tell with the snow. Hang on."

"C-Craig?" I quavered, hearing Kenny say something in the background. "I, _ngh_, I can come outside?" I suggested shyly, the thought of seeing him again constricting my esophagus even more than it already was.

"Nah, I'm coming to the front door." Wind rushed into the receiver on top of his voice, and luckily the sound of a car door slamming was in stereo. Shit, dude," he mumbled against the cold. Whimpering, I scrambled for my front door, peering through the peephole uneasily. "Have you got more than just that sweater?" Craig asked, louder than usual to be heard over all the wind.

"_Ngh_, no," I confessed uncertainly, glancing briefly down at my olive green jumper before looking outside again for him. Where was he? Shouldn't I have been able to see him by now?? "C-Craig, where—GAH! Sweet Jesus!" I yelped, his shape appearing on my doorstep. Flinging it open, I blurted, "You're here!" As if he didn't already know.

Snapping his phone shut, his sapphire eyes flashed with relieved recognition, and his long arm reached for me. Taking my hand, he stepped closer and pulled me swiftly forward into a strong hug. Without letting me go, he reached behind me and shut the front door before pulling away to lead me through the piling snow and to the waiting mini-van. He called something over his shoulder, but the words were lost to the powerful, freezing winds, and my head was feeling hazy from the sudden blast of cold. Trembling potently, I squeezed his big hand, my own practically engulfed in it. He heaved open the back door, tugging me to help me in first, climbing in after me and promptly slamming the sliding door shut.

"Hey, Tweeky!"

"Ahh!" I cried, spinning on the seat to see Kenny leaning casually on his elbow against the opposite door, grinning. "Hi, _ngh_, Kenny," I strained, twitching like the twitchy idiot I was. I yelped again when someone softly touched my head, squealing as I faced the raven at my side.

Craig absentmindedly brushed snow off of my shoulders and hair, pushing damp locks out of my face and watching me with relieved, pleased eyes. "You're all red," he noted. I flushed brightly, but before I could form a combination of syllables and sound, the driver spoke up.

"Hello, Tweek," Mrs. Tucker greeted kindly from the front seat, turning slightly to offer a small, genuine smile that made me feel less insignificant.

"Oh, _hrgck_," I choked bashfully. "Hello, Mrs. T—mmpf!"

Craig had seized my face with both hands, his electrifying lips crushing mine in a hungry kiss; instantly I melted into him, my shivering body going limp as I let him drink me, my blood pounding in my ears and heading south to a more compromising location. His hands held my jaw up to his, and I turned my face a little, experimentally. Craig seized this opportunity to open his mouth, coaxing mine to do the same. It didn't take too much persuasion, my mind completely enthralled by his bewildering eagerness. He tasted of orange juice and cream cheese, and the far back of my brain wondered if he had a bagel for breakfast. The kiss was too distracting for me to remember we had a small audience, and when we broke apart, I was blushing vibrantly, self-conscious, out of breath, and dazed.

"Tweek," he murmured, as if oblivious to the pretty blue eyes on us. He gazed intently into my horrid green eyes as if he thought they were beautiful, as if he thought I was important, and I couldn't manage a response.

…Beautiful? Important? _Me??_

"I've got an extra coat," he told me lowly after capturing me with his stunning azure stare for a few moments, as if it were a perfectly normal transition from kissing to conversation. Then again, what do _I_ know about what's normal?

"He's going to need it," Mrs. Tucker said softly, picking up a dark gray jacket from the passenger seat and passing it back. She seemed completely unfazed by our sudden kiss until I saw her clutch the steering wheel nervously.

"Here." Without looking away, he took the clothing from his mother and handed me the thick, downy gray coat with faux fur lining on the hood. It was similar to Kenny's old parka, which he retired years ago from growing out of it, and the smirk he wore reflected the same thought. "You're not freezing on _my_ watch," Craig stated firmly, his face determined.

"You don't _have_ a watch," Kenny commented with a chuckle.

"Shut up, smart-ass," the ebony-haired boy muttered, at last releasing his hold me with those hypnotizing blue eyes lifting to narrow at the hooded boy. "You're not gonna freeze either, dude. Be glad I had that jacket you're wearing," he pointed out, smirking. I peeked sideways to see that the advice-giver was in fact wearing a stark-white, thick parka with gray fuzz lining the hood, which was pulled over his blonde head, of course.

"Okay, true. Thanks, dude," Kenny allowed agreeably, snuggling into the white coat with a content smile. White?? When did Craig have a _white_ jacket?? "Really, I should be glad you had a 'nice coat' for 'special occasions,'" he rebutted, grinning behind the high neck. "I didn't even know they _made_ men's coats in white."

"Well, they do," Craig said dully, though there was something off in his eyes, something touchy laced in his tone. I quickly became worried.

"Oh, we got that for him when my mother…" Craig's mother began, trailed off. She sighed sadly after a beat. ""For his grandmother's funeral. It was one of her last requests that no one wear black to her funeral."

"That's kinda cool," Kenny said softly, watching Craig sideways. The raven had buckled himself in and was ignoring the talkative blonde as his mother began to pull away from the curb. I twitched unsurely. "So you got a white coat, too," he guessed, "on top of lighter clothes?"

Craig leaned slightly over me, his delicious black hair inches from my face as he helped me fumble with my difficult seatbelt. I bent forward slightly, and let myself smell him a little, shivering at the warm pine and burnt bamboo, that vanilla and a scent I couldn't identify that I was starting to think of simply as 'Craig.' He ruffled my hair as he sat up again, and I refrained from reeling backward suspiciously as he startled me. I thanked him quietly, unable to find any louder a voice.

"Actually, he asked to get all white clothes. In fact, he suggested the whole family do it," his mom elaborated, sounding pleasantly nostalgic. "I sent out an e-mail and when we arrived in Denver for the service, everybody was dressed head-to-toe in stark white. It was beautiful. I cried on sight."

My chest swelled with awe and pride. Craig was amazing. I turned to him as he turned stiffly, and gave him a tiny, timid smile. "That's so, _ngh_, cool, Craig," I told him quietly, shrugging. "I had no, _ngh_, no idea."

"People wear white to Hindi funerals," he mumbled as if to discredit himself, shrugging. "It's a sign of respect to them, respect for the dead and their life. For renewal."

"Like you knew that when you were eleven," his mother scoffed playfully, sadly. "You wanted to do it because white is the opposite of black. Craig loved his grandmother like he loved Red Racer," she added for Kenny's and my benefit. Even though she giggled at his modesty, I could sense the love and pride she felt for her brilliant son.

"Yeah, well," Craig dismissed, setting his elbow on his armrest and his chin in his palm. His fingers sneaked toward mine, and to my surprise, I laced them together instantly. He had a microscopic curve to his lips now, even though his eyes were distant, maybe lost in some memory. "Hope it's warm enough," he said flatly to the hooded boy.

"It just got warmer," Kenny said faintly, watching him with quiet admiration.

"How about yours?" my stoic hero asked me carefully.

"Oh Jesus!" I squeaked, nuzzling my face in the soft fuzz. "It's really nice, _ngh_, C-Craig. Th-… thank you."

"I'm sorry even the car is so cold, boys," the tired blonde woman apologized. "I need to get the heater fixed."

"At least there's no wind," Kenny said optimistically.

"I can't believe we actually have school today," Craig muttered grudgingly after a few minutes of silence. He'd begun leaning back against me, resting his head atop my mass of hair. My grip on his hand had steadily grown tighter as my paranoid mind escalated car accident after car accident in my head, my eyes locked on what I could see of the road ahead. He shifted slightly closer, picking up on my for-once-reasonable worries. "You'd think we'd get a snow day with the weather _this_ goddamned crappy."

"They didn't say anything on the radio, and nobody called," Mrs. Tucker said uncertainly, clearly disbelieving as well.

"Maybe it's, _ngh_, clearer up there?" I offered smally, biting my lip as I pictured an overturned semi lying across the icy road. In my head, Mrs. Tucker couldn't see it through the snow, and we t-boned into it and were sent flying through the windshield. The grotesque image of Craig bloodied and broken next to me – fading from life as his azure eyes dimmed – terrified me. I squealed, pressing into him as if my minimal weight would hold him down in the event of a crash.

"Unlikely," Craig replied tiredly, and I held the small hope that he was also responding to my internal panic. "Whatever. At least you'll be there," murmured into my messy hair, making me shiver and blush a little. "I could do with that."

As I willed my mind to relax, Kenny muttering something about needing butter, I soaked up as much of Craig's unexpected warmth as possible.

-

School was most definitely still going to be in session, since when we'd pulled up there were a dozen other parent vehicles dropping off kids and their friends. The weather was showing signs of mellowing out, and it seemed less urgent now to race inside. Piling out of Mrs. Tucker's van and into the biting wind, thanking her profusely, I yanked a thermos out of my bag and chugged a good half down, having been deprived of the brew for at least half an hour. Craig tugged on my sleeve, jerking his head in a motion for me to follow and slipping his arm around my waist as I nodded, turning hot pink. Kenny said something about study hall and pranced away, moving lithely through the mounds of snow. Snow wasn't unusual in South Park, of course, but it wasn't normally _this bad_. The snow was almost up to my thigh, where it had yet to be cleared. Yet Kenny pushed right through like it was the easiest thing to do. I couldn't even tell where he was going, since the sidewalks were mostly shoveled and perfectly safe, but he was off in another direction entirely. I found myself staring after him in mute horror.

The mute didn't last long. With me, it never does.

"C-Craig, what if he slips in the snow, _ngh_, and can't get up, freezing to death before we can, _ngh_, find him??" I panicked, gnawing on my lip and grabbing at the roots of my hair, oblivious as Craig automatically brought my hands down. "AUGH! What of he dies for _real_ this time?!" My hysterics weren't going unnoticed, catching the attention of other students as we headed for the front steps, but I got the sinking feeling that something else entirely was keeping it. "_Hrk_, poor Butters will be devastated! I'll be devastated! Not to mention, _ngh_, Stan and Kyle and maybe even—ACK!—Cartman! I DON'T WANT KENNY TO DIES, C-CRAIG!" I screeched erratically.

Craig's hand came over my forehead, and I was pressed sideways and back into his chest, my face aimed toward the sky. I squealed pitifully as Craig's blank stare bored into me, making my shakes intensify as my heart beat inconsistently against my ribs. I didn't realize I'd been breathing heavily until I went back to my regular, slightly uneven breaths. People's scandalously curious eyes were burning holes in my skin – OH GOD – but Craig only flipped them off, never looking away. I had to swallow hard, afraid I'd collapse under the awful pressure of his beautiful cerulean when he blinked.

"Feel better?" he asked quietly, still only inches away.

I whimpered in response, unable to form coherent thoughts.

"Cool," he said easily, gently releasing my head and taking my hand, giving more wide-eyed observers the finger as we tromped up the steps.

-

Craig had met me after first period outside my class, like he had before, and we went to study hall together. Upon arrival, Clyde smiled brightly and immediately grilled his best friend for homework answers. Rolling his eyes, the black-haired beauty sat up against me and assisted his persistent comrade. Mindlessly, I pulled out my own math homework, left unfinished thanks to a small panic attack when I couldn't remember what radians were. As my brain tried to get in its math setting, my gaze found a pair of certain blondes, sitting closely together at the next table over.

Kenny and Butters literally put their heads together, bent close enough to nearly touch foreheads. The smaller boy was pointing at something on a green sheet, probably explaining something to his taller companion. Kenny nodded occasionally, but I got the impression he wasn't really listening. The hooded kid carefully looked up at Butters, and slid his eyelids shut as he slowly leaned in. He placed a short, tender kiss above the boy's ear, and I heard the indistinct murmur of Butters' voice halt. Clearly stunned, Butters turned to gape at his fellow blonde, the other taking the expression as offense and cringing. I felt a confused, empathetic sting in my chest as Kenny swiftly apologized, gaze downcast dejectedly as he moved to get up.

Didn't Butters want him? Why wasn't he saying anything??

"Kenny!"

Turning back, Kenny was entirely shocked to have Butters fling himself into his arms and begin kissing him like it was all he knew how to do. I twitched, satisfied as I smiled a tiny bit. They didn't even care that half the class was watching in awe, glee, and horror.

"'Bout bloody time."

"C-Craig?"

"Been waiting for them to hook up," Craig clarified. "Could tell even before Kenny wanted to 'chat' with me," he chuckled, smiling faintly at the two on the floor.

"_Ngh_," I non-responded. "I'm happy for them," I said truthfully, my voice unintentionally strained.

He just smirked at me, laying his lips delicately on mine and flipping Clyde off as he sighed impatiently. "You're brilliant, Tweekers," he murmured once he pulled away, running his long fingers through my unkempt mane and making me tremble harder. "Don't change."

I took his other hand hesitantly and nodded. "Okay, C-Craig."

Maybe Dato was right. Maybe I should sometimes just be myself.

* * *

**A/N** **II**: ldknsgilaebivnlse;iubgr;zjb;ejqalxknbv BEFORE I FORGET! I almost had Craig suggest bold, solid colors on every person for his grandma's funeral, rather than white. Because personally, if I say don't wear black to my funeral, I mean wear colors that SCREAM your presence. I'd want a wake to shake the city. If I were cool enough. XD ._.' _Anyway_…

So there's chapter 17, late again, as per usual. =3 TT_TT I'm thinking that maybe I'll just say my updates will be about every three weeks or so. That's how it's been lately, anyway, it only makes sense. o3o

Also: Happy birthday, chOnch0n! ^_^ =D Hope it's not tomorrow on your end of the globe! XD (Okay, so it is, but I tried my best! ;_; )

P.S.: I haven't had time to edit this, so I apologize for any glaring typos/errors you might've found. I'd love it if you pointed them out so I know what to fix. =3


	18. Fit For A King

**A/N**: So I have ACT testing tomorrow, and I haven't given a rip about school in too long. I finished this at a ridiculous pace because I adore you people. You, my readers, make me happy. =]

I have no idea what a .22 automatic looks like, or if I even got it right (i.e. Does it even exist? O_o').

I haven't edited this, guys. Many apologies in advance for the nonsensical sentences, glaring errors, and laughable typos. =_=' ;_;

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

_Craig's P.O.V._

Fit For A King

People were really starting to notice the way I kept to Tweek. I was letting myself get more public, snaking my arm around his waist whenever we weren't separated by desks in class, holding his hand under tables. I loved the way he'd jerk upright in surprise every time, brilliantly green eyes wide as he bit his lip with a squeak and turned red. My chest would tense in small guilt and greater enjoyment for startling him, but still getting that blush. God, do I love his blush. When we walked through the hall, I'd hook my arm around his thin shoulders, once again taking advantage of the ambiguous gesture as means to touch him without drawing panic-inducing attention. He'd still twitch, of course, only reaffirming my urge to protect his frail, paranoid person. Especially when he'd mutter something about pressure or tap-dancing religious icons.

Kenny was ridiculously upbeat all day, even more talkative than usual. When he wasn't flirting with his new boyfriend in back of class, he was gushing and spouting off like he had fucking A.D.D. He seriously sounded like he was off his meds. At least Butters stayed a typical topic.

"Dude, you don't even know how fuckin' _psyched_ I was when he tackled me," Kenny went on with a Cheshire Cat grin.

"Kenny."

"I mean, do you have any idea how long I've liked him??"

"Kenny…"

"Goddamn. He's so fucking sweet and cute and honest—"

"MCCORMICK!" I interrupted, Tweek crying out at my side.

"What?" Kenny asked automatically in response to my volume.

"Shut the hell up," I said flatly, giving him a stale look. He only grinned again, making Tweek whimper-grunt and twitch.

We were going to their choir class, with eyes on all three of us the whole time. I was getting a bit sick of Kenny's random ranting, even though when Tweek would babble I'd usually listen to it all before ruffling his hair and distracting him with a kiss. Lately, anyway. I restrained myself from kissing him in class, for the sake of his sanity. He'd spazz like there was no tomorrow – and god forbid he ever that about that, either.

I hadn't been to English class since Monday, and while a miniscule part of me was worried about my grade, the dominant part was too interested in listening to Tweek's goddamned choir of _angels_ to give two shits. He seemed just a little more comfortable singing with me around than he had been yesterday. They practiced "Hate Me" again, and to my surprise, when Tweek looked nervously back at me, he didn't seem embarrassed. His emerald eyes questioned my blue, pleading for approval instead, as if what I thought of his singing made a difference.

It was so painfully _sad_. And impossibly adorable. I smiled – a real one.

We were both lucky he had a rest, because he had bitten into his bottom lip and smiled a tiny bit as he flushed hot pink, and a realized a boner was growing in my pants at the color. Why did I like that so much? Turn-on or not though, I didn't want to distract him too much, because otherwise I'd miss hearing him sing. In case I hadn't put it up in neon lights earlier, his voice moved and calmed me the way his blush made me hard. Yeah. So I let my smile fall carefully, nodding slowly so he could get a hold of himself sooner. Kenny watched us with knowing glee, nudging Tweek companionably.

-

Mr. Advice was all over his smaller boyfriend, Butters' bright smile just as blinding as his when we got on the bus. Thankfully South Park's team of super snowplows had cleared the roads even so that they weren't fatal to drive on; the weather itself had turned to mildly sunny, making the white on the ground shine like mirrors reflecting the sunlight. Tweek shrieked and threw his thin arms over his golden head, blinking rapidly at the offending light when we had stepped outside. I'd blinked, squinting as I shaded my eyes with my free hand. I had guided him to our transportation so he could adjust, telling him he wouldn't go blind at all and to stop panicking about it.

Now he sat at my side, right up against me so I could lean him toward me and gently fondle his hair, our jackets on the empty seat across from us, where I'd piled our bags as well. Kenny had Butters in his lap, the two blondes giggling girlishly at some gossip I didn't care enough about to hear. Tweek was trembling violently, but it was soothing to me. Preoccupied, I kissed the top of his chaotic mane as the bus pulled away.

"C-Craig?" he asked hesitantly after a few minutes of silence comfortable silence between us, his tiny frame resting shakily against me. I hummed in response, and he grunted anxiously. "Did you ask me, _ngh_, on a date last night?" he went on cautiously, as if I would think he was nuts. He turned his face up to mine slowly.

My final text from the previous night flashed in my mind, and I smirked. "Yeah. I did, Tweek," I replied smoothly, "You up for a film?"

"ACK! What, t-tonight??" he choked, sitting up to gape at me with impossibly wide eyes, as if he hadn't expected a yes.

"Have you got work?" I asked with a slight frown. His eyelid twitched oddly at the mention of work, and he looked really worried. It hadn't even occurred to me.

"I—GAH!—I'm working with a partner tonight, _ngh_, so it might be okay…" he offered shyly, biting his lips and furrowing his brow as if something else bothered him. The notion sort-of went over my head.

"I'm free whenever; it doesn't hafta be tonight. Or we could even just do a late movie." A small spark of _oh no you did _not_ just say that_ made me smirk defiantly at my own skepticism.

"OH JESUS!" he wailed, fingers moving for his scalp. He yelped through clenched teeth as I automatically grabbed his wrists to stop him from tearing out his soft, messy hair. "A, _ngh_, a late movie?? What if some homeless guy mugs us on the street?? AUGH! He'd demand our movie money, and then beat us with the butt of his—GAH!—.22 automatic!! I don't want my skull fractured, C-Craig!"

"Dude, what," I replied flatly. "Christ, no one's gonna _mug_ us," I assured him tiredly, rolling my eyes even as I smirked. Outbursts like that used to piss me off, but now they were getting to become endearing to my routine. His paranoia made me want to be his hero even more.

_Wow_, am I gay. Look what he's done to me…

"What if they _do_, and, _ngh_, we're bludgeoned to death?!" Tweek squealed, eyelid twitching. "I don't want you to die! ACK!"

I blinked. "You're worried about _me?_" I echoed in quiet awe, eying his panicked expression curiously, though my face probably looked more brooding.

"SWEET JESUS! Um—!"

I stole his quivering, chapped lips hungrily, moving my mouth against his like my brain had been screaming for me to since we got out of my mom's car. He was stunned, almost immobile until I took the side of his hot pink face and urged his mouth open. He trembled potently, letting me in and clutching my shoulders for dear life, as if he needed an anchor. Was I that good? Well, I was probably his first boyfriend – first _date_ for that matter – so there was probably no comparison, but the way he let out a tiny moan made me feel like I could to just about anything to please him. So I let an eager hand down his back, his shivers making my jeans my worst enemy. Experimentally, I slipped my fingers under the edge of his oversized sweater, feathering over his scorching lower back.

"_Hrk!_" Tweek pulled away slightly, gripping my shoulders tighter unconsciously as he glanced behind himself at my arm. "Are you, _ngh_, are you touching me?" he whispered with quiet wonderment, a cross between startled and disbelieving. "Why would you do that??"

A tiny twinge stung my gut with guilt as pity scraped my heart. He didn't know? I was _kissing_ him, wasn't I? We'd even kissed harder than this – hell, I'd crushed his smaller body to mine, why wouldn't I want to touch him? Did he not know – or even let himself _think_ he was be attractive?

Oh. Right. My bad… Again.

"You remember my dream?" I began carefully, using the hand on his precious face to brush some chaotic blonde out of his fantastic green eyes. He nodded hesitantly, unable to look at me as he chewed his lip and burned even brighter. I smirked. "That's only _some_ of what I want to do, Tweekers… Does that scare you?" My words had started cocky, but the wide-eyed stare I'd gotten in return made my tone less arrogant. "Tweek?"

"Oh Jesus," he simpered. "Only, _ngh_, a little. And, and not in a bad way! AUGH! I want to…" he tried, obviously insecure. He bit his lip again, making it difficult not to pounce on him right there and then. "Will, _ngh_, will you kiss me?" he asked at last, in a small, self-conscious voice, his hands grasping at my hoodie.

My response was a groan of impatience as my hand sneaked fingers just barely below his beltline, earning me a yelp. Before he could protest my interest again, I pressed him into me and captured his trembling lips. He melted this time, fidgeting uncertainly as he held back panic at my wandering hand. I kept fairly clean, considering our location and how I nearly lost it when he threaded his bandaged fingers through my hair, under my blue chullo.

-

"Hang on, Tweek, I gotta answer this," I mumbled as we headed for Harbucks. My phone was blaring Rise Against from my pocket, making my jeans vibrate and interrupting our conversation on films. Caller ID stated in bold "MOM," and a small nervousness made my chest twist oddly. I should've known immediately it was her, since I'd assigned the ring tone, but I'd been too distracted by Tweek's jittery questions to think straight. Tweek nodded vigorously in understanding, biting his lip to keep quiet as I flipped the cell open. "Hi, mom," I answered cautiously, putting my free hand in my jacket pocket and glancing at Tweek. He looked guiltily down at his smaller hands in my gloves, and I ruffled his frantic yellow hair to let him know it was still okay. "'Sup?"

"Could you come home, sweetheart?" my mom's soft voice replied carefully. "Are you busy?"

It sounded like she was hiding something important, avoiding something she wanted to say. My mom never liked talking on the phone, thinking it wasn't as good as face-to-face, so she always seemed embarrassed or cryptic. Or both. This time though, she sounded sad and fearful, and her words instantly struck worried suspicion in me. My gaze locked on Tweek's, the caffeine-addict whimpering and staring back anxiously, pulling on the edges of the downy coat I'd given him. He looked just a little smaller than usual in it, but trembled slightly less, and was even cuter, and I was almost excited to rub my face in it when he didn't need it anymore.

"What's wrong, mom?" I asked in guarded concern.

"Nothing's wrong, honey," she protested, in the sort of way I could only half believe her. "But I'd like to talk to you. And then both you and your sister…"

There were only two things she could mean. Either she wanted to "talk" about dad, or she wanted to bring up my sexuality. Neither was exactly appealing. I just wanted to forget about my stupid father, and there wasn't really anything I could say – let alone _explain_ – regarding how I feel about Tweek.

My eyes fell on his increasing shivers, and I reflexively reached out and brushed a few particularly long bangs out of his enormous green eyes. He flinched at first, not expecting the touch, but closed his eyes and leaned slightly into my hands as I moved it to hold the side of his radiant face. His brow was furrowed just a little, as if he was still unsure of himself. To destroy his doubt, I moved closer again and began carefully threading my fingers through his chaotic mane, combing and absentmindedly playing with it. Tweek trembled more severely, squealing pitifully.

"Yeah, okay, mom." I bent forward and kissed my coffee fiend's forehead. "I'll be home soon." Hanging up, I slipped the phone into my back pocket and wrapped my arms around Tweek's frail frame. "I gotta go home now, but we're still on for movie later, yeah?" I murmured, disappointed I'd have to leave him alone in that coffee shop for hours on end. Silently, I hoped nothing happened, that he'd be safe from accidentally hurting himself. It hadn't happened yet this week while he was at work, but his clumsiness and overreactions weren't exactly secret or infrequent. "You gonna be okay?" I questioned cautiously, just in case.

"_Hngh_," he grunted awkwardly, nuzzling his face in my chest and making leaving that much harder on both my pants and me. "It's okay, C-Craig," he mumbled into my jacket, trembling potently and clutching my back. "I'm a, _ngh_, a big boy now," he joked uncertainly, glancing at Harbucks nervously. "Are we going, _ngh_, tonight?"

I chuckled. "I hope so. We'll hafta see what my mom wants…" Pulling away enough to tilt his head upward, I kissed him eagerly, letting my hands wander to his jeans pockets. At his surprised squeak, I slid my tongue in to meet his. Clinging onto my coat, he let me drink him in once again as if I couldn't get enough, before I forced myself to stop, leaving us both slightly breathless.

"I'll call you," I decided hoarsely, clearing my throat at the sound. "I might be able to use my mom's car." It wasn't exactly the best date impressive vehicle – which he knew about already – but it would be better than walking or trying to bus to a decent theater. I made my reluctant self turn to go. "See ya in a bit, Tweekers," I called over my shoulder.

"AUGH! Bye, C-Craig!" he shrieked, yanking on my heartstrings.

I'd better come up with a movie to see.

-

The house was quiet when I went inside, and I didn't even notice my mom sitting in her ancient rocking chair until after I dropped my bag and kicked off my shoes. She sat on the edge of her seat, a mug of steaming tea in her hands, and I vaguely recalled times when I was little: Going to bed, she would stroke my hair out of my face almost absently as she sang me to sleep. It seemed unfair to remember this with the dread hanging in the air.

"Hello, Craig," he greeted quietly, still startling me.

"Oh," I said blankly. "Hi, mom." I came around to the couch, across from her as I sat down and bent forward, resting my forearms on my thighs. "What's up?" I sighed, steeling myself for the inevitable.

"Do you love him?" she asked softly after a few beats of silence. Her eyes – the same color as mine – were sad, and so incredibly lonely as she gazed at me. The was no accusation, no demand for said "love," but a simple, desperate question.

I'd been through this in my head so many times. I didn't know. I didn't know if wanting to protect him from even himself was love. I didn't know if you could call the thrilling, gut-wrenching, maniacal sensation I got around him "love." I didn't fully understand what I wanted to be to him – other than his protector, his safe place, his hero. I didn't want to lose him, but I didn't know if I could say the loss and loneliness I would feel was love. What the hell did _I_ know about love? The only people I'd ever said "I love you" to were my mom, sister, and grandma. I don't think I'd ever even told Clyde or Token how important they were to me. Who was I to even use the damn word?

"Yeah."

She nodded, and it took me a moment to realize I'd said it, I'd confirmed the question's assumption. It had just slipped out of my mouth, the filter broken between my tongue and my brain. At least I hadn't stopped to think – what a stupid thing _that_ would have been…

"I just… It's every mother's dream to have grandchildren," she began explaining, and for once, I didn't want to hear the rest of what my mother had to say. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth. "And I know you could still have children, but I just wanted them so badly to carry your genes – to be part of _you._"

This disturbed me slightly, and I snapped my head up to stare at her with wide, blatant horror. "Mom. That's kinda weird," I informed her cautiously, grimacing. "You don't need another me. Trust me. I suck." Fuck. Now it seemed like I was fishing for compliments or something. "What I mean is—that can't be why you're worried. It's kinda… y'know, trivial," I reiterated hastily, her slightly hurt expression making my stomach turn guiltily.

"Craig," she said, shaking her head slightly. "You will never understand how much I love you," she went on with an _I'm-about-to-cry_ smile. But she didn't, just kept talking. "I wanted you to see your children grow up to be a little bit like you. I want you to see someone you had a hand in making take part of your heart and never let go. But if you don't… like women…" she wavered, her smile fading, "You never will."

This was way too much. I didn't want to think about kids until I was married, and I didn't want to think about marriage until I was out of college, and I wasn't even out of high school yet. I wasn't even sure I would even _consider_ marriage at any point. Especially now that I've found myself liking Tweek. It wasn't even really a possibility – they had laws against these things.

Holy fuck, I am _definitely_ not thinking about marrying Tweek right now.

"Mom, there are other options. I don't have to marry a woman to have kids," I sighed. My brain honestly didn't have the capacity for this right now. "You can't tell me this is all you're worried about," I restated, frowning skeptically.

"No, it's not." She shook her head again, avoiding my eyes. "You know I go to church on Sundays…"

I stared. No way. No. Fucking. Way.

"And I want you to know God loves you."

Oh.

Well I wasn't expecting _that_, that's for sure. I blinked.

"Many people interperet parts of the Bible differently, but I looked through it, top and bottom – which was no easy task, might I remind you," she said with a faintly amused smile, "But I have found nothing where Jesus says you are a sinner."

"Tons of people say God hates fags," I pointed out helpfully, disbelieving. Mom flinched, wincing at "fag." It occurred to me that was the first time I'd used that word in months. I blinked again, frowning deeper.

"The Bible also says the earth is 6000 years old, and I don't believe that," my mother added. "And that those who work on Sunday should be killed. We certainly don't listen to _that_ part."

"…What's your point?"

"There are some things I am inclined to believe," she started, "And others I am not. I wanted you to know that the faith I was raised with would not believe God hated you for loving someone because their gender was the same."

I opened my mouth with no response ready, and thankfully was saved by Ruby and her suddenly convenient timing. She burst through the door, exclaiming how tired she was and asking what was for dinner. When she saw us, she paused, holding her left shoe as she was in the middle of taking it off. She blinked rapidly, confused.

"Uh, am I interrupting something?" she asked apologetically.

"No, no," mom told her with a tired smile. "We need to talk, sweety…"

-

"You're thinking about _what?_" my sister challenged with loud articulation, eyes wide with disbelief, forehead creased.

She was seated next to me on the couch, crossing her long legs with her arms folded across her chest. She threw herself back against the sofa, slouching enough to look kind-of… goofy. She was scowling like she thought my mother was serving her a huge grounding, complete with iPod confiscation. As if mom had ever been the one to do that.

"It's only a thought," my mother assured my indignant sister quietly. "One I've had a few times," she attached even quieter, kind eyes lifting from her tea to me. "I haven't loved your father the way I used to… for quite some time…"

"_Divorce?_" my sister hissed. "What would happen?" she asked, sounding less angry and steadily more scared. "We aren't _moving_, are we??" she gasped suddenly, uncrossing her legs and sitting bolt upright. "I am _not_ moving," she informed us with a glare. She was taking this rather well, considering I thought she'd throw a fit and scream her little strawberry blonde head off. Or burst into tears. Shows what I know. I eyed her sideways with some amount of pride.

"It's only a _thought_," my mother repeated wearily.

"Why?" my sister pressed diligently, her voice almost cracking.

I knew why. Hell, I was probably the reason. But somehow it seemed telling Ruby it was my fault dad was gone would be a bad idea. Did mom think so, too?

I clenched my jaw again, and stared tensely at her. She glanced briefly at me before swiping stray hairs out of her eyes, clearing her throat.

"There has been enough abuse in the family," she answered in quiet steadfastness. "I'm not putting anyone through that again."

Damn, could she navigate mine fields. Maybe she really _did_ suspect a Ruby outburst, same as me, and I knew I would've let it wash over me, too – or make it worse. Really, those were the only options. Yet even with mom's careful wording, my little sister was no idiot; she turned directly to me, narrowing her hazel eyes. I looked back at her myself, and we locked gazes.

"So it's _your_ fault," she said lowly.

I stared flatly. _Here we go_, I thought bitterly. _Bring on the PMS…_

"I'm sorry."

I was slow to register the words, as I had been with my own only minutes ago. They were simple, common words, a common phrase, but out of her mouth – they were unbelievably. Not that she'd never said sorry before, but even though she'd said it a few days ago, the novelty hadn't yet worn off.

"What?" I asked dimly.

"I never wanted to think about it," Ruby explained delicately, her pretty face stony. Why did that make me so nervous? "I knew. I even knew how much worse he got when he thought no one else was around." She relaxed her arms, and they fell to her lap. "I knew he hated you. I knew you'd never really done anything. I knew he was bullshitting every time he tried to justify it to someone, to me. I always knew…" She glanced shortly to mom. "You don't know just how much _I_ do." She paused, biting her inner cheek and frowning slightly as her thin brow knit thoughtfully. "I was afraid of him. He hit me once, when I was nine—" Mom gasped quietly. "—said I'd better not turn out like 'that little shit.'"

I flinched, scowling on principle. "Uh-huh," I muttered in a stale tone.

"And I'm sorry," she murmured, eyes downcast in uncharacteristic shame. "I could've stopped him, so many times."

"No," I whispered. "I don't think you could have," I said tightly, balling my hands into fists and grinding my teeth, the miniscule cut on my cheek seeming to sting slightly, even though it had mostly healed. "Don't think like that. You can't blame yourself, Ruby." I used what was left of my dwindling energy to lift my face in my tired mother's direction. "Neither can you," my voice lowed, pleading.

"He's sick," she insisted suddenly. My mom was near tears as she said this, trembling with the effort of holding them back. "Oh—oh dear, I don't mean quite like _that…!_" She breathed in unsteadily, reaching to the tissue box on the coffee table and wiping her eyes just as she began to cry.

Immediately I was on my feet, in front of her chair as she dabbed at streaking mascara. I knelt, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my head against her chest.

"Thomas is… I'm certain he has a disease of some sort. He's always had – _anger_ issues," she told us through shaky sobs. Ruby came over and wrapped her gangly arms around our mom's shaky shoulders, setting her chin atop her head. "I'm so sorry," mom choked, reminding me of times when it was all she could say as I clung desperately to her. "I'm so sorry, kids! I love you both so much," she sobbed, her hand moving to my head as she started gently caressing my hair like she used to, the other hand on Ruby's cheek.

"It's okay, mom," Ruby promised, kissing her temple and squeezing her tighter for emphasis. "We love you…"

"We love you," I echoed quietly. Damp warmth pressed against my face, and I blinked, realizing I'd been crying softly into her blouse. I didn't care, and knew she wouldn't. "And we forgive you," I added almost silently, clutching her as if she would slip away. "I forgive you."

The week had to be the most crying I'd done in years. The relief overpowered the embarrassment and the blow to my pride; my mother, sister, and I cried for a long time, just holding each other in awkward positions only family could get away with.

I wanted to hold my caffeinated jitterbug.

-

"Home by two," mom called after me as I headed out the door with her car keys in hand, jumping the last few front steps.

"Okay," I said, waving impatiently over my shoulder without looking back. My mood had improved drastically since that afternoon as the anticipation for my first date with Tweek left me pacing the house, screwing around with my hair 400 times (Ruby had the balls to rip on me for it, using really bad gay jokes), and brushing my teeth at least a dozen. It's not like I was worried he'd be put off or anything – in fact, I was pretty sure nothing I did would _ever_ put him off – but since I had time to actually make an effort, why couldn't I make sure I was hot? I knew I _was_ – remember that whole unwanted attention thing? – but I wanted Tweek's knees to buckle at the fucking _sight_ of me. I wanted him to blush that brilliant scarlet and melt in my arms as I kissed him like there was no tomorrow—

Holy shit. I am such a gaywad: I was already a little hard.

As I started my mom's minivan, I glanced at the clock to see it wasn't even seven yet. Oh shit. He got off after eight. I was early… but so what? Didn't he say something about working with someone else today? Yeah, Rich or something.

Smirking, I headed for Harbucks, feeling completely guiltless. It took me less than five minutes to get there, and as I pulled up, I could see Tweek through the front windows, making something in a blender. His shoulders were hunched slightly as he quivered, teeth clamped into his bottom lip. A tall kid with a seriously bad haircut I vaguely recognized from school was behind him, glaring at the blonde as if he was the cause of all his problems. I immediately hated him and his appalled sneer.

Before I could calm myself down, I climbed out of the car, staked angrily inside and planted myself in front of the order counter. Tweek had followed me with his huge green eyes, blushing brightly with his mouth agape, his eyelid twitching. The guy fueling my snarl hadn't even noticed me yet.

"What're you looking at, Spazmoid?" the brunette kid demanded in a voice that instantly made me think of big, dumbdogs.

"Ahh! C-Craig??" the blonde quavered, shivering.

"Hi, Tweek," I replied lowly when the dick between us blinked stupidly. When he turned to me, obviously embarrassed as he straightened up and tried to look professional, I saw his nametag read, "Rick." Rick the dick. I smirked. "Okay, I want a medium Americano with a shot of Irish Cream and…" I began with false disinterest, leaning forward. "What the hell are you doing?" I challenged Rick the Dick, my fake smile falling into an unamused scowl.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, startled and clearly pissed. Tweek yelped in the background.

"Craig, obviously." Without warning, I seized the front of his uniform polo shirt and brought him over the counter to my face as he protested, earning a shriek from the caffeinated observer behind him. "Leave. Him. Alone."

"What the fuck?!" Rick growled. "Put me down, ya fuckin' asshole!"

Lowering my head and gripping tighter, I glared darkly at him through my eyelashes, making him shut up and stare. "I said," I began again, snarling with contempt now that I had his attention, "Leave. Him. Alone. And if I hear you call him 'Spazmoid' again, I'll see to it personally that your liver goes missing."

Damn, but did I love threatening shitfucks. Shoving my middle finger between our faces, I almost laughed at how terrified he looked, and how he crossed his eyes to focus on my finger before I tossed him harshly back.

Tweek's cheeks were hot pink, and I nodded to him with a smirk. He squeaked, whirling around to pour the contents of the blender into a plastic cup and icing it. The customer he handed it to was gawking at me, shocked. I flipped him off as my coffee fiend slid him his drink, rolling my eyes when he hardly noticed it.

"Thanks," the man mumbled automatically, turning from my cold stare. Rick the Dick was watching me grudgingly and brooding against the far counter, arms crossed in front of himself. He was easy to ignore, all heat and no flame, and I smirked again, flicking him off as I motioned for Tweek to come around the register before I took his hand and pulled him toward the back room. Rick's disgusted look and muttering of "faggots" made me pause. I murmured to Tweek to go ahead, and he nodded, scampering away as I turned back to the other barista with a blank expression. He backed up slightly as I went behind the counter into his area.

"Get away from me, cocksucker!" he hissed, wrinkling his huge nose.

I was offended, but not as much as I could've been. Chuckling, I leaned over menacingly, backing him up against the blenders and getting right in his ugly little face.

"Am least I'm getting some," I pointed out smugly. Of course, I was technically lying. And bluffing. There was no way for me to be sure he wasn't getting any, but apparently he wasn't, because he blushed as his eyes widened. He frowned as my smirk widened. "Deal with your lack of sex life somewhere else, dick," I suggested. "Leave Tweek _alone._" Turning away to help Tweek with his shirt buttons, I flipped Rick the Dick off over my shoulder.

-

"You never told me about Rick the Dick," I scolded as I opened the passenger door for him.

"Ngh," he grunted, looking at me with frightened eyes. "I'm s— um…!" He stopped himself from apologizing and tugged nervously at the edges of my borrowed gray coat.

Nudging his shoulder to get him into the car, and sighing, I told him it was okay. Once I was in the driver's seat, I said, "You gotta tell me, though, when somebody treats you like that."

"OH JESUS!" he wailed, gripping the seatbelt across his chest. "I—I kinda forgot about him," he replied carefully, not meeting my flat gaze. "He only, _ngh_, works Friday through Sunday…" he mumbled bashfully. "Rick's not that, _hrk_, that bad," he added beseechingly, smiling tentatively.

"Yeah right," I scoffed, revving the engine and starting toward Shakey's. He winced. "…why didn't you tell me?" I tried again, softer. "And don't say you forgot, cuz that's ullshit."

"SWEET JESUS—"

"I know your memory's pretty good for all the panicking and spazzing you do." After Shakey's we could go to South Park's thater and see "The Informant" or "9." In North Park, we could see – well, everything else.

Tweek bit into his lip again, his right leg bouncing. "Zzzzzzeeeeeeergh," he strained anxiously, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him grasp tighter at his seatbelt, fingers itching no doubt to grab his messy hair. "I didn't wanna, _ngh_, cause you any more trouble!" he began uneasily, fidgeting in place. "You're already… you do, _ngh_, a lot for me! AUGH! I'm totally useless in return! _Hrgck_, if I told you about, _ngh_, Rick, you'd just do _more!_ Oh my—GAH!—god!" He couldn't restrain himself any longer, his trembling hands flying into his golden hair. "I totally don't deserve you—AHH!"

I had hit the brakes pretty hard, making him cry out like that as I turned dramatically to him. His emerald orbs were wide with sheer terror at my actions, panic and shame etched into his beautiful face as he clutched frantically at the dashboard for support, even though we'd stopped. I stared him down, mechanically flipping off a car horn as someone went around us, telling my libido off as he trembled and flushed vibrantly. When his breathing dropped down to its regular semi-hyperventilation, I let myself speak.

"If one of us is undeserving, it's me," I murmured sullenly, keeping my expression blank. "Let's get this straight. _I_," I started meaningfully, pointing to myself, "fucked up a long time ago and made somebody's life a living Hell for no good reason." I pointed at him, making him jump and squeal. "_You_, were that somebody. Understand? I screwed you over for nearly a decade, and you think _you're_ undeserving? That _you_ don't deserve _me?_" At his whimpering flinch, I toned down my mounting, indignant volume. "Tweek – I should never have hurt you, and I end up liking you? Dude, if you were anybody else, I would've been rejected in an instant. You _should_ have rejected me," I realized cynically. "_I_ would've rejected me," I muttered to myself. "If anything, you deserve to treat me like dirt," I mentioned honestly, frowning thoughtfully. "You deserve to lord it over me…"

"Jesus Christ!" Tweek shrieked, quivering potently. "How can you _say_ that?! _Ngh_, I could never treat you like, _ngh_, like dirt!" he informed me with a painfully sad look. "I… I…! GAH! OH SWEET JESUS, C-CRAIG!" he cried, fingers once again attached to his scalp. "You're so goddamned amazing!"

Self-control? What's that?

He screamed briefly as I took his face in my hands and kissed away his stressed tears, the taste lingering on my tongue as I set a kiss on his warm forehead, making him whine.

"Be my king," I begged him, his rant leaving me to realize how much I was starting to need him – and maybe how much he needed me. "I need a king to show me what I deserve…"

Shutting his eyes and whimpering, he put his hands on top of mine and jerked forward on the heels of a spasm. He pressed his burning lips onto mine with delicious determination, our teeth knocking for a split second. He kissed me as if starved of me, opening his mouth in invitation, as he had for our first kiss. Tweek whimpered again, moving against me and unknowingly encouraging my boner. I nibbled lightly on his bottom lip, reveling in his trembles as I brought our hands down to his waist, where I sneaked mine lower after unzipping his coat, brushing my fingertips over his abdomen. His hot skin was so damned soft, like a girl's, and I couldn't resist stroking it absentmindedly as he took the back of my head and kissed me harder. My other hand slid up and under the back of his shirt, tracing his ribs and following his spine. He was so goddamned _thin!_ He moaned gently and shivered, breaking our kiss to fumble momentarily with his seatbelt; I unconsciously reached down to help him before touching his fiery skin again. I was so caught up in my lust, though, that I hardly noticed his mouth's absence until he practically leaped into my lap, grabbing my face like he knew what he was doing and crushing my lips with his. Absolutely thrilled, I pressed his hot, quaking body to me and let Tweek breathe me the way I breathed him. I lifted his legs to set them on either side of me so he was between the steering wheel and myself.

Shakey's could wait another ten minutes.

-

Pizza was surprisingly easy as date dinner, and I was somehow highly entertained by the fact that his favorite was the same as mine: Double pepperoni and black olives.

"You like it spicy?" I had asked, smirking.

"_Ngh_, yeah…" His eyes widened. "Oh god—it's not, _ngh_, poisoned, is it??"

"What? No, of course not. You surprise me sometimes is all."

"Oh." His eyelid spazzed, and he smiled a little. "Okay, C-Craig."

Now we were on our way to North Park, since South Park's minimal offerings failed to hold interest. When we got to the theater, the movie playing next made me hesitant. I knew _I_ wanted to see it, but I wasn't sure I wanted to risk Tweek panicking. He was looking at the movie times, too, and seemed to be thinking about the same thing.

"We can, _ngh_, see it, C-Craig," he told me uncertainly. "I can control my—GAH!—self." He winced at himself, but smiled timidly, and I knew he was scared to death. I tousled his chaotic locks.

"We could see something else in a while," I assured him with a shrug. It had only been out two weeks. It's not like I wouldn't get a chance to see it. Then again… the idea of him clinging to me at the scary parts became more and more appealing as he protested his fear.

"No! It's—it's playing next!" he resisted. "Besides, _hngh_." He lowered his voice, leaning into me with a worried expression. "What if, while we're waiting, _ngh_, out here, there's a drive-by and, _ngh_, we get shot??" I blinked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "It's North Park, C-Craig! Anything—OH GOD—_anything_ could happen here!" He clamped onto his lower lip, yanking on his hair and squealing. "I don't _wanna_ get shot in a drive-by! ACK!"

Taking his fingers out of his hair, I tenderly kissed his knuckles, smiling carefully. "Are you sure?" Evilly, I hoped he'd say yes.

Blushing again, he nodded erratically, anxiously leaning against me. I wrapped an arm around his waist, directing us toward the pay window until Tweek yelped and looked wildly up at me. I blinked in questioned, and he twitched. "I'm paying!" he stated, squeaking accidentally afterward. "You, _ngh_, got dinner…" He moved to fish his wallet out of his bag, but I grabbed his arm before he could find it, earning a shriek.

"Nuh-uh," I argued. "I asked you out tonight, I get the tickets," I told him flatly, putting his coffee bean wallet back in his messenger bag. I offered to put it in the trunk, but he insisted on bringing it in. "If you really wanna pay for something, you can get snacks." This was perfect because I'd already sneaked in a bottle of soda inside my jacket, and popcorn made me nauseous. I was also pretty sure he wouldn't be hungry, or willing o put up with undoubtedly shitty movie theater coffee.

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Tweek adjusted his bag strap, nodding submissively after a moment.

I paid for two tickets to "Zombieland," showing my license to the woman behind the window. She seemed more interested in the location of my arm, and once I had the tickets, I flipped her off and aimed us for the third theater. She smiled knowingly.

We sat toward the back, so Tweek wouldn't be staring directly at the screen, which would surely make everything worse. Plus, I could watch everybody in the crowded theater and show them exactly what I thought of their opinion on my boyfriend. My middle finger was ready to go as soon as the previews rolled, pulling my Dr. Pepper out of my jacket. I'd told Tweek I had it when he asked what I wanted from concessions, and he'd looked slightly betrayed, muttering to himself about FBI trickery.

Placing my arm behind his shoulders, I leaned sideways to tell him something, but forgot all about it as I felt him stiffen and squeak. Glancing at the jittery blonde, I saw he was pulling a thermos out of his messenger bag, and his head whipped around to gaze guiltily at me.

I laughed, luckily in time with a particularly funny preview, and kissed his cheek, making him relax and blush. "So _that's_ why you wanted your bag," I mused in his ear, earning myself a shy smile. "You sneak," I teased, threading my fingers through his terminally messy hair, "I'm proud."

When I started playing with his hair, he sighed softly, melting against me before sitting bolt upright and staring at me, as if expecting disapproval. My response was an eye roll and chuckle as I urged his head back onto my shoulder. The ad was for some romantic comedy, and I found this painfully cheesy… and perfect.

Unfortunately, one of the first things that happened in the actual _movie_ was somebody getting chased down by a zombie, and Tweek's hand flew to his mouth, stifling a shriek. I kissed his crown, and he relaxed a little. His hand drew away from his mouth, and I took it with my free hand, holding it so he could squeeze as tight as he heeded when he got scared. Which – to my delight and guilt – was often. I continually quelled him with kisses, and he hardly even screamed. The worst that happened was toward the end when Wichita almost got bitten, and some asshole in front of us had the balls to tell him to shut up.

Of course, this didn't sit so well with me.

I kicked the back of his seat hard, and showed him my favorite finger. "Fuck you, dickwad," I bit. He glared back at me, but made no argument, having drawn attention to us. I flipped him off again, and then all the curious observers. "Watch the damn movie," I commanded coldly. They obeyed, Tweek wincing and squeezing my hand. "_No one_ tells my boyfriend to shut up," I told him, setting a kiss on his trembling lips.

"Thank you, _ngh_, C-Craig," he whispered, burning a red I could even see in the dark theater.

"No problem, Tweekers."

-

I still had a few hours to kill, and when I asked Tweek if he had a curfew, he said his parents never really needed to give him one.

"I don't get out, _ngh_, much…"

So we bummed around North Park for an hour, passing strip clubs, doughnut shops, and tattoo parlors, until I made the executive decision to head back to South Park. Tweek was getting increasingly tense, clinging nervously to me, and I took the unintentional hint and went to the car. When we got back, I took us to our old elementary school.

"Oh Jesus, C-Craig!" Tweek stage-whispered when I hopped the short fence around the playground. "What if Barbrady catches us? _Hrgck_, aren't we, _ngh_, trespassing??" He glanced around in worry, tugging on the hem of his sweater. He had my gray coat on his shaking shoulders.

"Don't worry about it, Tweek," I said lowly, rolling my eyes and smirking. "I'll help you over," I offered gently, holding my hands out over the metal top bar. He winced, fidgeting and then obliging me, rushing forward. He was light enough that I almost overestimated the hoist he'd need, but caught him in my arms like I'd hefted him off the ground. My arms were under his small ass, and he was holding onto my shoulders, able to get his arms almost straight. I smiled up at him, and he blushed back at me, twitching. "Hi, Tweek," I said smoothly.

"Oh Jesus," he whimpered.

We went on the swings, chatting aimlessly. Normally, I hated small talk, but once I got a conversation going with Tweek, I was on a roll, finding it easy.

"C-Craig?" Tweek asked after we went on and on about Garrison, choir, and the various couples we'd anticipated.

"Yeah?"

"…Do you, _ngh_, believe in underpants gnomes?" he asked shyly.

"Dunno." I smiled to myself. Adorable.

"Damien isn't FBI, right? _Hngh_, he wasn't lying?"

"Nope."

"And—and if I'm your… oh Jesus, you _king_…" he began self-consciously. I stopped pumping my legs and kept my swing still. "W-what does that, _ngh_, make you…?" he finished timidly, watching me unsurely.

Standing, I went over to his swing; he brought himself to a halt and gaped anxiously up at me. I smiled warmly, holding onto the swing's chains and leaning down to kiss him. He sighed, and I pulled away after a moment, resting my forehead on top of his golden head.

"The king's hero."

* * *

**A/N** again: Sooooooo I'm late here, but I LOVE YOU GUYS!! ;_; I forget what I wanted to say, other than THANK YOU FOR READING. You guys are how I keep going.


	19. You Can Always Just Take

**A/N:** HOLY SHIT. I'M ALIVE AND ALL THAT. Yes, it's true. I have not abandoned this fic. There are many, many reasons it's taken me months to update, though. Srs. I'll briefly explain some of them on dA, since I don't wanna cheat word count much more. If you don't really care about the excuses and for some reason just want to read this awful piece of crap, by all means – read on. ;D

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO CONTINUES TO READ THIS! There should be about two more chapters, or another chapter and an epilogue. Or something. Still working it out.

Also: I'll try pm-ing anyone who reviews. I've been meaning to do it, but I've never gotten around to it.

Also-also: I'm not a big fan of this chapter. I am SO SORRY in advance. ;w;

Plus-Also: There's that M rating again, lovlies. ;] It's a little more **explicit** than last time. You've been warned! X3

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

_Tweek's P.O.V._

"You Can Always Just Take"_  
_

I didn't want to go home.

The playground was freezing, and the wind stung my ears, and if Barbrady caught us my dad would talk my frozen ears off with his super metaphors, and I would never be able to take coffee orders or sing or hear Craig say my name ever again! Oh _god!_ But – even though the temperature was dropping steadily, and we were technically trespassing – Craig was warm. He kept bringing his swing sideways to kiss me on the cheek while we talked. I stopped swinging after another few minutes, and he came over to stand in front of me again, holding the chains just above where I put my hands and leaning down like he had to tell me he was my hero. This made me blush again, as I pictured him in a shining suit of armor, or dressed like a superhero in a billowing cape of midnight blue. Craig was of course _much_ more handsome than any superhero or knight, so my brief fantasy overwhelmed my growing erection. He was already making me hard (which of course was embarrassing and made me blush brighter) with the way he kept kissing me and holding me, being so close and kind. Oh Jesus – what if he saw my erection and stopped touching me?

But… no. No, he said he _wanted_ to touch me, he _wanted_ to kiss me. He kept telling me these things, so why couldn't I let myself believe it? Maybe I would never really let myself believe it, even if I wanted to. Which I did! But maybe nothing I did would ever leave me flattering myself with possibilities of being who he wanted. Wasn't it enough that he kept promising me, kissing me, calling me his king?

"So you're like… my, _ngh_, my knight?" I asked tentatively as we noticed the time and made our way back to the car. My hand squeezed his in an anxious spasm, and I winced in apology.

Squeezing back gently, Craig bumped my shoulder lightly, making my head automatically whip around to stare up at him. He was smiling faintly, and flicked hair out of his eyes as he murmured, "Yeah. Your knight. Like Lancelot to King Arthur."

"I always thought of Lancelot—GAH!—as kinda stupid," I told him before I could bite my tongue. When he raised an eyebrow in what I could only hope was amusement, I blushed vibrantly and squealed at my mistake. "OH GOD! I didn't mean—that is—_hngh_, I don't think you're stupid! Really!" Twitching severely, I tugged on my—_Craig's_—coat with my free hand to keep from yanking on my hair. "You're, _ngh_, really smart! I know it, I just, _hrk_, oh man! This is _way_ too much PRESSURE!" I wailed pathetically, clenching my hand into a fist and beating my head in frustration. How _dare_ I imply Craig was stupid? There was no _way_ he was stupid! What was I thinking? I'd seen too my TV shows as a kid, read way too many fantasy novels. It was unusual for me to think of anyone as stupid – mostly because I had a hard time understanding a lot of things without really, really focusing – but I understood when I was little that Goofy was slow, Pooh wasn't very bright, and Goldilocks was just plain dumb. Why I blurted my opinion about Lancelot, I couldn't even guess.

Sighing, my ebony-haired hero turned to stand before me, stopping my shaky steps instantly and easily pulling my arm down. His arm snaked smoothly around my waist, and as he pulled me closer, I could feel myself grow weaker by the second. "Relax, Tweekers," he said quietly, pressing my smaller body against his stronger frame. "I'm not offended." He chuckled, calmly running his long fingers through my ridiculous hair and kissing the top of my head. "It was the only example I could think of. Don't worry so much."

"Okay, C-Craig," I meekly squeaked, rubbing my face in his chest.

He had to help me over the fence again, and part of me felt like a damsel in distress. This made me feel silly and stupid, and extremely embarrassed when the other part felt like a little kid again. I just hoped I wasn't too heavy.

"Wanna chill tomorrow?" the beautiful raven asked casually once we were in the car.

"SWEET JESUS! Um," I blurted obnoxiously, my eyelid twitching of its own free will. He tousled my hair with a smirk while I blushed, avoiding his azure gaze. "I'd, _ngh_, like that, C-Craig," I stammered shyly, wringing the ends of my favorite green shirt.

Pulling my head carefully sideways, he tenderly kissed the top of my head again, making me whimper. "Cool. Let's get you home, yeah?" he murmured, starting the car and smiling slightly.

I curled up in my seat for the ride, hugging my knees. I wasn't cold – Craig was blasting the heater to make sure I couldn't be – but I was embarrassed and self-conscious and actually a little tired. Maybe I would be able to sleep once I got home. Craig seemed wide awake, watching me when he wasn't watching the road, and I hid most of my face in my knees, trembling as though I'd actually had coffee in the last two hours. A large fraction of my brain started to panic about caffeine withdrawal, but thankfully Craig interrupted my mental rant before it got very far.

"We're here, Tweek."

"AUGH!" I shrieked, sitting upright as my feet hit the floor of the car. "Oh. Okay, C-Craig," I replied dumbly, fumbling once again with my seatbelt. Leaning over, he made me squeak in surprise before he nudged my nose with his, gently stealing my lips and smoothing a hand over the side of my face, a click letting us know my seatbelt was loose. My breath caught in my throat as his cool fingers brushed into my hair, and I sighed almost dreamily, unthinking. "C-Craig…"

His mouth was hypnotizing, gentle and hungry, urging my heart to swell and my crotch to press condemningly against my jeans. This made me blush, but I welcomed his approach and shifted in my seat to let him climb over me. His bigger hands supported his weight on the door handle behind me and the edge of the seat-back. Any other time – only a few days ago, even – I would've been intimidated and terrified. Well, I was, but for different reasons. It was no longer his eminent hate that intimidated me, but his protective warmth. His beautiful, strong figure still terrified me, but now it was because he wanted me with it instead of knowingly tormenting me with it.

"Tweek," Craig's quiet, mesmerizing voice lowed in my ear as he leaned his body over mine, lips brushing lightly over my jaw line. My fingers gripped anxiously and I shivered in response, shutting my eyes unconsciously. "I'll only say it one more time, since I know you might be sick of hearing it…"

Oh god, what was he talking about? I never got sick of anything Craig said! How could he not know that? What could he possibly think he could say that would make me sick? I never even got sick of 'Spazmoid,' even though it had hurt each time he said it… "W—_hrk_—what?" I squeaked tentatively.

"I'm sorry."

"OH JESUS!" I wailed dismally.

"No, Christ, just – please," he sighed, pulling back to meet my eyes with saddened blue. "I needed to. I want to do so much more with you—" My shriek was brief and unnoticed. "—because I've realized what I should have done a long time ago. I need you… and you need me."

"GAH! How did, _ngh_, did you know?" I strained in panic, shaking like a leaf under his unrelenting sapphire eyes. It was like I couldn't escape them, and this thought fueled my alarm. "Wait – why would you, _hngh,_ need me?" I finally caught, gaping dumbly at him.

"His fingers gently feathered over my face, and it took my stunned brain a moment to register that he was once again moving messy bangs out of my eyes. I winced when he smiled so kindly at me. "Hell if _I_ know," he answered softly. "I just do."

When he kissed me again, this time lowering himself carefully onto me, my heart leaped with absolute joy and strange excitement_. He needs me, he needs me,_ I repeated ecstatically in my head. _Sweet Jesus this is_ real! Unconsciously, I gripped the front of his sweatshirt tighter, parting my lips to grant him the access I was craving; he tasted so _good_, and my tongue was begging for his flavor again. Craig obliged, teasing my palette as he lifted my legs to slide them underneath himself, across the front seat. Now that he was fully on top of me, the weight of his fantastic form pressing against me, the boner in my underpants was as hard as it had ever been. His hand was unbuttoning my shirt, not helping the matter in the slightest. My mind was caught between panic and elation, screaming for oxygen and preserving innocence I didn't really possess, while at the same time being impatient for what the boy sparking my hormones would do next. A small whine sounded in the back of my throat when he moved a tad to his right, his hard-on pressing into mine, our reactions mutual. My hands flew into his hair, taking fistfuls and crushing his face closer as I bucked my hips, sudden confidence making me hint at what I wanted.

"Goddamn, Tweek," Craig breathed between our feverish kisses, "You're so fucking adorable, did you know that?"

I cried out as his fingers spread on my chest, accidentally biting down on his tongue. He flinched, but before I could let apologies flow, his lips moved slower, his hands traveling down toward our erections. I held onto his shoulders when he moved his lips to my ear, licking the sensitive skin just below it while he cupped a hand over my dick.

"_Oh Jesus_," I squealed, squirming awkwardly and blushing. "C-Craig, what're you doing? _Ngh_, wh—"

He pulled back to lock gazes with me. "Do you not want it anymore, Tweek?" he began lowly. "I can stop…" he finished, seeming slightly deflated.

"AUGH, no! Of-of _course_ I do!" I protested quickly, feeling stupid and rude. "I'm not, _ngh_, ungrateful or anything! It's just, um—!" What was I doing? I wanted this—Craig wanted it, too—so why was I scrambling for excuses I didn't want to come up with? Who said we were even going all the way? Oh my god, if he wanted _inside_ me, I don't know _what_ I'd do! I'd fantasized before, naturally, being only human, but there was no way I could imagine the beautiful raven-haired boy above me wanting me _that_ badly! If he wanted me… _like that_, my heart would _explode!_ I DON'T WANT MY HEART TO EXPLODE!

I was so distraught by my self-conscious thoughts that I didn't notice he was leaving hickeys on my neck and collarbone. By the time I was aware of his mouth, however, his hard had begun to massage my hard-on. A squeal escaped from between my lips before I clamped my teeth into the bottom one, my unstable shaking getting worse as my head raced with energy and panic. My heart threw itself violently against my ribcage, and heat coursed throughout my body as I pressed pleadingly into his hand. A bizarre, unfamiliar excitement gave me the courage to reach one of my trembling hands down the length of his toned body to find the bulge in his jeans. My breath hitched in time with his as I timidly pressed my fingers to the denim between his erection and me. Craig lifted slightly from me to make room for my shy but eager touch, though the absence of his warmth was felt instantly. I found myself whimpering and tugging on his clothes to convince him back to me. His lips moved along my jaw line as he came closer again.

"C-Craig," I managed to say, despite my growing delirium. "Can I, _ngh_, could I kiss you?" I whispered shyly, my fingers playing nervously with the cloth of his hoodie. I had to swallow a yelp when he brought his unfairly sexy face to mine, unerring blue eyes staring half-lidded into my bewildered green. "_Hrgck_," I choked anxiously, the air caught in my throat finally releasing.

"Don't ask," he commanded softly, the hand on my boner massaging me gently as he feathered kisses over my eyelids. The combination made me flush deeper. "You can always just take," he suggested before meeting my lips with his again, hungry and delicious. "And you should."

My hand twitched severely, making not only half my body jerk awkwardly into his, but making me squeeze him pretty hard. He groaned, and his tongue came to meet mine before I could try again to apologize. Suddenly I was grabbing at his dark, silky hair, taking the plunge despite my inexperience and rubbing his package the way he did mine. He responded by leaning down against me more and using the arm he had been using to support himself now to lift my face higher and lace his long fingers in my tangled frizz.

A jolt of excitement I'd never felt before made me moan into my boyfriend's mouth. (_Boyfriend!_) It came out more like a whimpered moan, as if he'd kicked a cute kitten in front of me, but apparently this didn't bother Craig, since he chuckled lowly in his throat and massaged more firmly. I had no idea if I was even coming close to making him feel as good as he was making me feel. Jesus, what if I really wasn't good at this at all, and he was just being nice and humoring me? Shit, man! I had to make him feel good! He already made me so happy, and now he was doing this for me – I had to give him something back, right? He didn't have to tell me for me to know I was a clumsy, inexperienced virgin. Oh god, Craig wasn't a virgin, was he?

Trying not to let feelings of pathetic self-consciousness overtake me, I leaned up into the raven-haired boy, kissing him harder and trembling more with uncertainty. Craig seemed a bit surprised at this movement, but returned the kiss with the same urgency as he eased a hand to my lower back to help me sit up, nibbling lightly on my abused lip. Another whimpering moan escaped me, and I steeled my nerves as I dipped my fingers into his boxers and reluctantly pulled out his dick. Craig flinched at the cool air, and pulled slightly away, leaving me to bite my lip and twitch slightly.

"Tweek," he began quietly, the hand on my erection slowly to a steady kneading, making me flush deeper and whine. "You don't hafta do that," he assured me with a faint smirk, his other hand reaching down toward mine. But I saw a flash of something, his eyes looking hungrily back at me. He wanted me to, but he... he didn't want me to feel... obligated? My cheeks colored again as his fingers touched mine, about to gently pry them away from his hard-on.

Yelping, I grabbed the front of his sweatshirt and yanked him toward myself again, narrowly avoiding a cartilage collision as I attacked his lips with mine, inviting his tongue with a prodding of my own. Craig started at this as well, letting go of my hand and putting his on the seat-back next to me to keep us from falling over. After returning the kiss deeply – I had distracted him for the moment – I carefully stroked his entire length, still quivering anxiously. _Please let this be good, please let me be good, please let me be good_, I pleaded in my head, groaning. "I—" came my voice after a few seconds, in between eager kisses. "I _want_ to," I promised him with a crimson face, smiling shyly as I did my best to work his stiffened flesh.

His hastened breath against my mouth made me shudder again. "Tweek, _fuck_," he groaned lowly, moving a hand to my waist and urging me closer. "Tweek, you're amazing," he praised gratefully (_gratefully!_), unzipping my jeans in the process. A violent twitch accompanied my squeal at the chill, and I accidentally gripped him harshly. Again. But Craig only flinched a little, beginning to pump me easily. "I love you, Tweekers," he murmured as he ran his hand up my back and neck, curling fingers into my hair again as he moved his lips across my jaw. I loved when he did that. My eyelids fluttered shut, and I had to concentrate on stroking him as he did the same to me and sucked tenderly on my throat. Automatically, my head fell back to grant him more access, and I chomped down on my lip to bite back a cry; his thumb was teasing the head of my cock, and every so often he'd run his thumbnail through the slit, making bolts of pleasure pulse through me. I tried to mimic each action, to induce the same feeling in my hero, and was extremely relieved to feel and hear hums and groans of approval on my neck and shoulders as he tugged slightly on my shirt to ravish them with his mouth.

"_Ngh_, C-Craig," I whimpered as I felt my body tense, near the edge. "I'm gonna…" I began, embarrassed, gnawing on my bottom lip again when his hand snaked under my waistline. Breathless, I tried to continue pumping him as he shamelessly groped my ass.

Returning his lips to mine for a brief moment, he leaned to my ear, working me faster. "_Cum for me, Tweekers,_" he murmured, smirking as he pulled back enough to meet my lustful green eyes with mischievous azure. Any other time, I would have worried about that devious glint, but luckily for me I was almost instantaneously pushed to my limit.

"Oh my god, _hah_, Craig!" I cried as I released in his hand, panting and flushing crimson. Craig gave a low groan and kissed me hard; warmth spilled in my hand as his tongue invaded my mouth. The dark-haired boy prolonged his strokes through my orgasm, other fingers moving up to tangle in my hair. I'd never tried that before – I certainly hadn't gotten it from someone else, either – and it felt so amazing that I couldn't help but whimper as I returned the favor with my own, unsteady hand.

After a few long moments filled with only the sound of our heavy, offbeat breathing, our foreheads resting against each other, Craig reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out a small pack of tissues. Blushing, I took a few as he did, squeaking shyly as he gently cleaned me up. It took effort not to think about ridiculous reasons for my boyfriend having such conveniently located tissues. Trembling, I carefully wiped him clean, too, feeling terribly warm despite a distant anxiety of having contracted AIDS on my hand. Not that I thought Craig had AIDS! But you could get AIDS from sex, right? Even though that wasn't really sex, it's in _jizz_, right? _Jesus_, I needed to calm down, and _fast!_

Thankfully Craig distracted me by zipping my pants up and bringing his hands to mine to zip himself up with my slightly dazed assistance. After throwing the used tissues into a plastic grocery bag he'd been using as a trash, Craig smirked, wrapping his long, strong arms around me and pulling me closer. Gripping at his chest, I smiled demurely, too apprehensive to meet his gaze again just yet. Another squeak escaped me when he took my chin, bringing my face upward and making me gape. There was a soft pink to his cheeks – a flush from orgasm – and he looked even more divinely handsome and impossible.

"That was brilliant, Tweek," Craig praised quietly, kissing my forehead sweetly. "Thank you," he whispered.

"I, _ngh_, I've never felt that good before," I confessed in a small voice, nuzzling my face into his neck, my skin hotter than before. Aside from hearing him say '_I love you_'and kissing me the first time, I was completely honest. I guess I meant it was the best _physical_ feeling I'd ever had before. It took concentration not to explain this concern of distinction to my black-haired lover. (_Lover!_)"It was, _ngh_, wonderful, Craig…"

"Hey."

Squealing automatically with anxiety, I pulled back and stared with wide eyes at him, slightly startled by his knowing grin. "OH JESUS," I strained, my eyelid twitching. "You're grinning again—AUGH!—Craig!" I wailed disdainfully.

"That's three times," he pointed out, resting his forehead on mine again, chuckling.

"Jesus Christ, man!" I yelped, my hold on the front of his sweatshirt tightening in anticipation. "What're you even _talking_ about?"

"My name. You didn't stutter," he answered in quiet triumph, setting his lips on mine and making me melt for the millionth time. "I'm so proud of you," he chuckled.

Holy shit. Holy SHIT! He was right! A happy, relieved smile found its way onto my face, and I felt a little… stronger? "I… I didn't," I agreed, a weird lightness creeping into my chest. It made me shiver harder as I vaguely recognized it as giddiness. Craig gently pressed a tender kiss to my lips again, his arms pulling me into a full embrace. "Craig," I said experimentally. "Craig, Craig, CraigCraigCraig."

He chuckled, resting his head atop mine. "I love you, Tweek."

"I, _ngh, _love you, too, Craig," I half-giggled in response, for once feeling a little bit… proud of myself.

"He really is a looker. Good catch, kid."

"JESUS CHRIST!" I shrieked, startled into jumping back to shut the door at the sound of a certain Underpants Gnome's voice and clapping a hand over my mouth. Other hand over my already frantic heart, I glared grudgingly at the gnome. "What're you doing here?" I hissed anxiously, lowering my voice for fear of waking my parents, glancing hastily about the room for any other sign of more friendly briefs-thieves. Deciding they were busy stealing someone else's underwear, I frowned at the tiny blonde man, who only grinned. Tugging on the hem of my sweater – having left Craig's coat on the coat-rack downstairs – I dared to ask, "_Hngh_, were you _watching us?_"

"Not the _whole_ time," Dato chuckled, smirking.

Squealing anxiously, I grimaced, grabbing a pad of sticky notes and chucking them at the gnome. My aim sucked, but he dove out of the way anyway. "Pervert!" I scolded, my face undoubtedly scarlet. "That's, _ngh_, gross!"

"Do you think you're gross, Tweek?" Dato asked, more serious now, straightening out his little pointy cap.

I opened my mouth to answer, but had nothing to offer, so I shut it again, disoriented. That was an odd question. He was trying to divert my attention! Shuffling awkwardly, I looked behind me at the locked door and twitched as I went to my dresser. Okay, so no one else was getting in. Didn't mean he didn't have gnome spies under my bed! But… Did I think of myself as gross? I had before, so, maybe I still did. Most likely. Christ, I fretted enough over how Craig could want to touch me, it only made sense that I still thought I was gross…

"Do you think _Craig's_ gross?" Dato pressed when I didn't respond.

Snapping my head in the tiny man's direction, I wrinkled my nose in distaste, aghast at the very suggestion. "Craig is gorgeous!" I argued defensively. "I—I'm so lucky, _erk_," I added quieter, biting my lip and looking away again. I rifled absentmindedly through my drawers.

"You don't understand why he likes you," the man said simply. After a moment, I gave up and nodded, pulling out a set of pajamas without really thinking about it. The little man sighed. "You are one ridiculous, paranoid kid."

I gave him a skeptical look, to which he shrugged, smiling slightly as if he knew something I didn't. This made me wince. "It's not, _ngh_, like I can help it," I muttered awkwardly. "Don't look," I instructed Dato sternly, holding my flannel pj's to my chest and glaring suspiciously. When he turned away, I hastily tugged my sweater off over my head and began to undress.

"I'm just stating the obvious, I guess," he sighed. "But you shouldn't worry. Trust me, if this kid didn't think you were hot, he wouldn't have been so quick to jack you off."

"Dato!" I yelped, nearly stumbling in my attempt to put on the pants I had in my hands. Righting myself, I quickly finished with that article of clothing, frowning at the gnome's back. "Craig isn't that, _ngh_, that shallow!" I protested. But I couldn't be sure, could I? I mean, I knew about every girlfriend he'd had, but just because they were all beautiful didn't… mean… No! It didn't automatically make him shallow! I was trying very hard not to start panicking. "Oh my god!" I strained, gripping at my hair, my flannel shirt still unbuttoned. "What if I'm not pretty enough for Craig?"

"'Pretty enough,' Tweek?" Dato echoed bemusedly, turning back slightly.

"GAH!"

"Relax, kid. I – I didn't mean it like _that_," the gnome hastily assured me, rolling his eyes. "I only meant that he's definitely into you, alright? Don't pitch a bloody fit."

"_Hngh_," I grunted weakly. "You're trying to give me doubts about him!" I accused sadly, chewing my lip.

"Y'know, it's too bad he's not here to button you up properly," Dato commented offhandedly, wearing a snarky grin. He eyed me as I was successfully deterred, attempting to close up my shirt. Wincing, my fingers fumbled faster as another blush lit my face.

Going over to my bed, I warily watched the friendly gnome climb up to my pillow. "Um, did you need something?" I questioned, unsure.

"Good night, kid," the little man chuckled, messing up a tiny area of my hair and hopping off the mattress. Confused, I watched him slip out of the cracked open door and disappear with a short wave over his shoulder. Immediately after he was gone, I scrambled out of bed to shut and lock the door, wondering when the hell it opened again and pushing back more worries of planted bombs in my room.

Snuggling under my covers, I shut my eyes and slept through the night. A distant dream of a knight in shining silver armor with striking blue eyes made me smile just before my subconscious dominated. It was much warmer under my thin sheets with this hero in mind.

"TWEEK!"

"JESUS _CHRIST!_" I yelped, startled awake, nearly falling off my bed due to having already rolled toward the edge overnight. Twitching with a wince, I gripped at my bed sheets and brought them up to my chin. "W-what?" I called back nervously, realizing it had only been my mother. "Is something, _ngh_, wrong? Oh _god_, is the house on f—?"

Bursting into the room, making me shriek and launch voluntarily off my bed this time, my mother locked gazes with me as I peeked over the top of my mattress at her. She seemed confused and suspicious, and I flinched at the look in her eye. "There's a boy here for you, Tweek. A 'Craig,' I believe," she informed me tersely, her tone indicating that she disapproved and didn't trust somebody, though I couldn't tell if the tone was for Craig or me. This was surely not a good sign.

"Sweet Jesus," I squealed, an uneasy shiver shooting up my spine. "_Hnn_, really? What'd you do?"

"Yes, 'really,' and I let him in."

"You let—WHAT?"

"Hey, Tweek," Craig said casually from behind my mom, his hair obviously messy under his hat, shadowing his eyes more than usual and making him look even more gorgeous than I remembered from last night.

Then I remembered last night.

"Oh my GOD!" I wailed, clutching my covers and standing up clumsily as I blushed furiously. "What, _ngh_, are you doing here so early, _ngh_, Craig?" My voice was climbing in pitch as my heart raced. Craig was in my room! We did _things_ last night! I was only in pajamas! Craig was in my room! My mom was just standing there, looking doubtful of the entire situation, and did I mention that _Craig was in my room?_

"Early?" he echoed, an eyebrow raising in amused question. "It's almost noon, dude," the handsome boy chuckled.

"_Hrgck!_" I choked, astounded. "I never sleep until—ACK!—noon!"

"You never _sleep_," mom pointed out wearily, sighing as she turned to take her leave. "Don't get into trouble while we're at work, Tweek, or Baba Yaga might come collect you tonight," she warned, closing my bedroom door behind herself while I whimpered as the image of a fat, witchy old lady with an empty potato sack over her shoulder and an enticing offer of Milky Ways appeared in my head.

"ACK!"

As soon as my mother's footsteps faded downstairs, Craig moved to my bed, giving her exit a highly skeptical, distrusting glance. "Christ, what's _her_ problem?" he mumbled disbelievingly, sitting on the edge of my mattress as I climbed back onto it, placing myself in the center – the safest, sturdiest place to be. Gently, he took one of my hands in his, scooting closer.

"Craig," I whined, squeezing his fingers fretfully. "I don't wanna be kidnapped by an, _ngh_, old cannibalistic lady!"

Chuckling, he gently stroked my hair, swiping bangs from my eyes. "Are you Russian?"

Brow furrowed in confusion, I felt my eyelid quiver on its own. "_Hngh_, what does that have to do with—?"

"Baba Yaga is a Russian fairy tale," Craig elaborated, and I nodded, having known this. "Well, are you Russian?" he implored.

"I…" I had to think about this, biting my lip and frowning. _Craig is on my bed, he's on my bed and holding my hand, and it's the hand that _touched_ me last night! Jesus Christ!_ "I don't, _erk_, think so," I responded eventually.

"Then there's nothing to worry about," my boyfriend stated, smirking again. Upon seeing my dubious expression, the ebony-haired teen leaned in. "Not only is Baba Yaga a fairy tale, but she only kidnaps and eats _Russian_ kids," he reasoned, tousling my hair and making me blush. "Nothing to worry about. Besides, aren't you a little old for her tastes? She's supposed to be into, like, eight-year old kids, right?" He chuckled, leaning into me again. "See? Don't worry about what your mom says. She's just worried we'll elope," Craig teased.

I didn't fully register the eloping joke, but he was making sense otherwise, so I let my paranoid brain place that concern aside for the moment, moving instead to _Craig being in my room (on my _bed_, no less)_ again. Eyes wide, I stared at him as if he had suddenly dropped from the sky and appeared out of nowhere next to me. "You—GAH!" I began, faltering at once and flushing more vibrantly.

"You still wanna hang out, yeah?" he asked, as if he knew I had somehow forgotten and couldn't form words just yet wither way. "No second thoughts?" he teased wryly, which brought me to finally register his elopement tease from before.

I colored crimson, deeper than I already was, and gaped at him. "We can't get married!" I blurted. "It's illegal in Colorado, _ngh_, and I'm not even eighteen yet, _ngh_, and you—AUGH!—you're too hot for a freak like me!"

Craig frowned, gaze narrowed as he pulled back, hand pausing in my hair. I whimpered at my own selfish stupidity. Why would I think he wanted to get married? He was making little jokes, teasing – it was what normal people did! Only a stupid, fucked up brain like mine could get actual _marriage_ out of _that!_ I was about to yank on my hair when my hero took my wrists preemptively and stopped me before I could even try.

"Tweek," he began uncertainly. "What the hell?"

"No, I-I just—" I tried weakly, trembling violently, scared he'd think I was too clingy or something and dump me for it. We hadn't even been dating twenty-four hours! Or—had we? "Too… _much_…" I strained, but he cut me off with a kiss, his lips gentle and soothing. I calmed quickly, but didn't stop worrying, letting him lay me back slowly and lay over me in turn. When he pulled away, I watched him anxiously, gnawing my lip harshly.

"You get so much out of so little," he pointed out, an eyebrow risen in interest. I squeaked. "I like that about you," he murmured, smirking and kissing my cheek sweetly. "But you've gotta chill out. Don't need you having a heart attack, okay?" he said, serious. I nodded obediently, and he released my wrists, bringing one of his hands to my face and cupping it as he just… stared at me. "Was last night okay?" he asked, startling me slightly. I tilted my head tentatively, and he let out a small, defeated breath. "I upset you," he seemed to decide, pulling back and off of me, suddenly abolishing any contact between us and sending my heart into a small panic. "I'm sorry..."

"I—no!" I protested, sitting bolt upright and grabbing his sleeve when he turned away, about to stand up. "No, _ngh_, not at all! I didn't mean to seem, _ngh_, ungrateful, Craig!" I pleaded fearfully. "Don't… don't leave," I begged quietly, hanging my head slightly, embarrassed. "Last night was really nice," I murmured shyly. "I really liked what we, _hngh_, we did. I wanna hang out, _ngh_, please?"

There were a few moments of silence that built the tension in my gut, and I knew I was going to cry any second if he didn't just turn around and hold me. Or look at me. Or kiss me. I wasn't picky! I just needed him to reassure my paranoid mind that he didn't think he'd done anything wrong, or, or, that… I didn't even know, I just knew I didn't want him to go.

"You liked it?" he asked, turning his head slightly to glance back at me. I nodded vigorously, chomping into my lower lip. Craig lifted his arm back and gently ran his long fingers through my hair again, and I sighed with relief, shuddering delightedly at this touch. Was it normal to like people petting your hair? "I'm glad," he murmured, turning back to me and pulling gently on the back of my neck as he leaned over to kiss me. I reached blindly for him, grasping his shoulders as he turned to come back further onto the bed and prod my lips with his hot tongue, requesting entrance. I gladly gave it. "Wanna know a secret?" he whispered as he lowered me onto my back again, smirking with a renewed energy. I was so glad he wasn't doubtful that I didn't even notice that I desperately needed a breath until he pulled away again.

"What?" I asked appropriately, my voice tiny and curious, slightly nervous.

"I'm still afraid of hurting you. And all I want to do is make you feel good," he answered, kissing my forehead and lingering there before he returned to my mouth, making my squeak in the process, flattered and shy.

"That's, _ngh_, that's two things," I pointed out with a small smile between his kisses.

Craig chuckled. "Yeah. It is," he agreed with amusement. Pushing himself up a bit, he smiled at me. "Get dressed, and we can screw around town or something, get you some coffee," he suggested, standing up to let me up entirely. As I set my feet on the floor, shyly avoiding his gaze, I brightened slightly at the mention of my lifeblood. "Should I leave so you can change, Tweekers?" he asked.

Swallowing my mildly surprised gasp, I quickly met his sapphire eyes, momentarily distracted by the blue. "You don't hafta, _ngh_, go anywhere," I protested sheepishly after deciding he wasn't being sarcastic. "I… I don't mind if you're there," I half-lied, my face on fire. It was only a half-lie because I was more than just modest – I was ashamed. But I didn't necessarily think Craig was going to stare lecherously. Though a small, hopeful and confident part of me kind-of wanted him to at least peek. It would mean he liked my body at least a little, right? That was important in a relationship, right? Oh god, we're in a relationship! I didn't realize I was making strange little noises until I met Craig's eyes from where I was standing, habitually rifling through my drawers. "GAH!" I yelped, flinging a shirt into the air. It landed at my feet, and I twitched under his gaze.

"Hopeless," he reminded me with a smirk, stepping over to me and picking up the shirt. "Take it off," he instructed flatly. Squealing, I blushed and immediately obeyed, shakily undoing the buttons of my flannel shirt. Craig straightened and rolled his eyes, poking at my hands to make them snap to my sides so he could do it himself. I fidgeted slightly, embarrassed and happy, and he quickly undressed me, bending down to briefly brush his lips over the nape of my neck and shoulder, running his hands down my sides before suddenly slipping my arms into the sleeves of my slightly too-big shirt. The sensations made me shiver, and I winced at the loss of them, making Craig chuckle as he ruffled my hair. "I think I'll let you do your pants," he informed me, turning and leaning against the door. "I might get carried away," he murmured with a faint smile, his eyes giving me a fond appraising. At least, I hoped it was appraising. I could only nod and blush, quickly changing into jeans.

"Heeeeey!" Kenny greeted with an enormous grin, leaning over the counter and beckoning us over. "Drinks? On the house, of course," he chuckled, turning and starting up coffee machines and the steamer without further ado.

I gave Craig an uncertain look, and he smirked, shrugging. I didn't know dad had let the perverted blonde start working so early. "What're your, _ngh_, hours, Kenny?" I asked carefully, smiling shyly. An encouraging squeeze to my hand made me smile a little bigger, and by chance, the blonde in question glanced back to see it.

Gasping dramatically, he made a point to drop the empty metal coffee tin in his hand and slap both hands to his cheeks, looking an awful lot like a certain Edvard Munch painting – only much more gleeful than tragic or terrified. This made me jerk back with nervous hesitation. He laughed, and I could practically hear Craig roll his eyes. "I just love it when you smile, Tweeky!" Kenny sighed happily, leaning on the counter again and resting his chin in his palm dreamily. "You're _adorable_. You must _accept_ this and _use_ it to your own _advantage_, Tweek," he informed me with a devious smirk, winking and glancing meaningfully to the dark-haired boy at my side.

"You suck at subtlety, dude," Craig stated bluntly, giving the other blue-eyed boy a flat look.

"Wasn't in the game plan, Craiggers," Kenny chuckled.

"Craiggers?" he echoed skeptically, shoulders drooping wearily. I twitched. Was I missing something? They were really close, weren't they? When did _that_ happen?

"Like 'Tweekers,'" the advice-giver elaborated, grinning mischievously. "Only for you."

"That's not all that original, asshole," Craig sighed, rolling his eyes and flipping the boy behind the counter off.

Kenny chuckled, returning to the coffee machines and adding hazelnut syrup to two cups. "Well, you have to admit that neither is 'Tweekers' or 'Tweeky,' _Craiggers_…"

"You clean up well," Craig complimented, raising an eyebrow and nodding once in approval. "That parka's old as shit, dude. You need to get rid of that thing."

Kenny pouted, and I shuffled awkwardly. Did I ever make that face? It was cute. But Kenny was way hotter than me… though apparently Craig didn't mind… "Dude. That's my childhood you're talking about!" the lanky boy argued defensively.

"Which doesn't fit," Craig pointed out dully. "And I highly doubt that thing keeps you warm anymore. The down's flat. It's been flat forever."

As Craig and Kenny got into a little argument over the blonde's trademark jacket, I grateful took an offered coffee and sipped on it slowly, unconsciously leaning on my boyfriend's arm and quivering as the caffeine hit my needy system. I was still a little bit drunk on the happy and pleasure from Craig's touch the previous night, and a blush lit my cheeks as I thought about touching him, having him say he loved me as I came, making him feel good… Even only minutes ago when he said he wanted to make me happy, that he didn't want to hurt me… I was so happy in my reminiscing that I didn't notice Craig and Kenny had stopped talking and were only staring at me.

"Dude. What did you _do_ to him?" came Kenny's voice, suddenly much louder than I thought it had been. It wasn't, of course, but it drew me from my fantasies with a thunderous volume. OH GOD, THUNDER.

"What d'you mean?" Craig asked coolly, smirking and kissing the top of my head affectionately.

"That was a blissed-out look, dude. I'm not stupid. I've been around, remember?" Kenny said, rolling his eyes and smirking at me after sticking his tongue out at my hero. I blushed brightly, eyes wide. I'd been caught! Oh Jesus! "You guys fuck yet?" he asked point blank.

"Oh _god_, that is WAY too much PRESSURE!" I wailed, about to wrench on my hair and drop my coffee. Craig held my hand where it was, and Kenny was quick enough to grab my coffee cup just under my hand, saving it from dropping and splattering all over the floor. "_Hrgck_," I choked shamefully, the pink in my cheeks turning to scarlet.

"_No_, asshole," Craig hissed, glaring pointedly and earning us a sheepish, apologetic grin from the poor boy. "And it's none of your goddamned business." I squeaked.

"Oh. I see. Second base, then," Kenny said quickly, eyes glinting mischievously again.

"SWEET JESUS!"

"Shut the fuck _up_, McCormick!"

I was left to giggle and fidget awkwardly – but not unhappily – as my boyfriend chased our friend around Harbucks, the two smirking dangerously or laughing hysterically with an impish grin. I felt myself smiling again, and didn't try to hide it or give myself excuses for it. Craig gave me one of his faint smiles as he passed, lobbing a half-eaten crescent left on somebody's table at the blonde, who ducked and laughed harder.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay, Tweek?" Craig said as he kissed me on my doorstep. It wasn't dark out yet, but he had let me know earlier that his mother wanted help stripping his dad's stuff out of her bedroom. I didn't want him to leave his mother – she needed him a lot now – so I insisted that he go back by four. He'd be leaving me with at least two hickeys from our visit to Stark's Pond, so I didn't feel left behind. I didn't know anything about relationships, really, but Craig was making me feel like I didn't have to worry about it at all.

"ACK!" I yelped when he suddenly got down on one knee. I was struck with panic about marriage again, but thankfully, he stilled my rapid heartbeat by taking one of my hands and gently kissing the knuckles. "Craig?" I questioned in a small voice, confused and flattered.

"Don't forget that you're my king, Tweekers," he murmured, looking up at me with that fond, faint smile. "I love you."

Summoning all my bravery and confidence, I bent and kissed his forehead as he had so many times with me, smiling carefully. "I love you, too, Craig… my knight in shining armor…"

Craig smirked, and I couldn't help my blush.

I loved that smirk.


End file.
